


So What

by tevlek



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Vampire AU, friendship first, romance later, vampire!bog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 82,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevlek/pseuds/tevlek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Bog is a vampire who needs a make-up artist to help conceal his immortality from the public. Marianne is that make-up artist. Fluff and Stuff happens. This is mostly going to be a collection of one-shots involving these two dorks.<br/>Chapters will be posted in the order they happen in this AU's timeline. Let me know if there's any confusion!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Second AU fic for this fandom. Let's hope it's okay!  
> Also, I am crap at writing accents. Bog still has his accent. We all know it and love it, so I hope you can imagine it when you read him speaking because I can't do it justice...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the top of the hill on the end of Briar Lane, there is an old house and inside of it, lives an even older man.

Since moving into town, Doug Turner learned one thing about his neighborhood.

No one goes to the house on top of the hill.

It was big, it was dark, and the owner rarely left it. The neighbors all knew that it was a man who lived there. Mr. Kingston, first name was unknown because no one ever bothered to find out. He had bought the house nearly thirty-five years ago, according to the people who lived there long enough to remember his appearance. Since then, he never really talked to anyone aside from a few gruff words to those who got too close to his property. Nothing unusual about a man liking his privacy, his father had said but Doug’s mom pitied him. She tried to send Doug up there once with a plate of cookies and he ended up hiding in Jack Denning’s tree house where they ate them all and he returned home feeling guilty and half-sick but free of awkward encounters with old, scary neighbors.

It wasn’t like Mr. Kingston had made his house look completely uninviting to visitors. He wasn’t eccentric enough to bar the windows or make ridiculously high privacy fences to surround his property, but the man didn’t make an effort to welcome people in either. Those people who went door to door passing on Jesus flyers always left them on his porch and ducked out of there, never touching the doorbell and they were supposed to be the resilient ones.

Which was why it was unusual when three years ago, out of the blue, a young woman was seen approaching the house every morning.

It happened like clockwork now. A pretty brunette woman would come up the sidewalk and head right for the door to the house on the hill before seven every morning. She would knock three times then let herself in even though it was typically customary to let the home owner open the door first. Over the years since her appearance, people noticed that she would leave at random times during the day or stay all afternoon but one thing was certain: She always left before nightfall.

Odd that such a pretty young woman would randomly make a habit of heading up to the house for the past three years. Of course, rumors circulated bearing all kinds of theories that were muttered at the mailbox or during backyard barbecues. They ranged from pity stories of it being a daughter of his coming to take care of him or a nurse from the hospital coming to check on his health to unsavory ones that she might have been a gold digger coming to prey upon an aging man. Whatever her story, Doug willingly got out of bed for school every morning in order to look out his window and watch her walk by. His mom greeted her in the morning sometimes, when she was outside and told his dad that she was polite whenever greeted but never stopped to talk.

Mrs. Jennings, a widow who lived next door to Marvin Young, discovered the woman’s name was Marianne and the only information gleaned was that she worked for Mr. Kingston but she never said what it was she did for him. The suitcase she wheeled after her was always in hand, but it wasn’t an overnight bag because she never stayed that long. It wasn’t clothing because those never changed from whatever she had worn that morning. Whatever she did for him, it was a well-kept secret that most of the time was left alone by the adults. It was the children who were mostly curios by the appearance of the woman going to a house no one else would dare go to.

It was the appearance of Marianne that inspired the children to begin making a game out of approaching Mr. Kingston’s house. They would see who would dare to stand the closest to it for the longest. Harry Jones held the record of standing on the first paving stone for five minutes before seeing the curtains move and running down the hill screaming. Hannah Young tried to walk up to the front steps of the porch but Marianne had come out the front door in that moment and she darted off, never trying to approach the place again. Marvin told him that he touched the front step on his birthday but Jack said it didn’t count because he ran away right afterward.

Naturally, when stories of scary old men were passed around the tree house on sleepover nights, dares would be included in the mix as well. Doug knew he should have stayed home that weekend but it was the first time he had been invited over to spend the night since moving away from his hometown. Martin and Jack were the first kids to even speak to him in the school cafeteria, he wasn’t about to say no to his only social acceptance. That was a new kid’s worst nightmare. In spite of that, he did wish his parents had told him to head home earlier the next morning than they did.

It was just after lunch, probably his last meal, when they headed up the hill. There were some dismissive statements that Kingston wouldn’t answer the door and he would be fine. Doug liked those scenarios. Then Marvin had to come up with a made-up idea of the door opening and Mr. Kingston would drag him into the house by his ankles and he’d never be seen again. That one he didn’t like so much. Jack shuddered over the idea of Mr. Kingston being a vampire that snuck away at night to find victims and Marianne was a thrall. That stopped him in his tracks because he had to ask what a thrall was and once he was finished explaining it, they had to start walking again. To cheer him up, Marvin eventually went into assumptions that the pretty young woman would be the one to answer the door if he didn’t run away fast enough. If that were the case, he was charged with having to tell them if she was as pretty in person as most of the neighborhood kids thought she was. Doug almost hoped that it would be her, just to spare him an angry old man possibly chasing him back down the hill for straying onto his property.

The three of them walked together to the top, stopping at the end of the sidewalk and staring up at the imposing house looming over them. Doug could understand their hesitation in being near such a structure. The house was crafted from dark woods and even darker shingles, the door was dark, the windows were curtained, everything about the house spoke of darkness, like the afternoon sunlight didn’t even touch it compared to the quaint houses of the neighborhood below. At least it wasn’t cloudy and raining with thunder and lightning in the mix when he stood before the house. They approached in the daytime, which was the best decision they could have made.

“Just go up and ring the doorbell. It’s easy.”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t _you_ do it?” Doug grumbled, eyeing Marvin.

“Because I like living. I have a lot of living to still do! Come on, Mr. Kingston is a mean old man who _hates_ kids!” Marvin explained, pointing at the house before them.

“He hordes the toys that kids lose in his basement.” Jack murmured, “I lost my new soccer ball to that old fart!”

Doug rolled his eyes but he still didn’t move any closer to the paving stones leading to the porch. He doubted an old man would horde a kid’s toys but he didn’t feel any braver when he finally broke apart from the two and started to approach the house. He was oddly reminded of Monster House when he approached it, half expecting the house to move when he set a foot upon the lower step then climbed to the next. The wood didn’t creak, which was odd for an old house, he expected it to groan and moan under his weight but they were surprisingly solid. Even the porch, dulled by age and sunlight, didn’t creak or crack when he crossed the wood. The door handle was polished and gleamed and the bell was softly illuminated in the shadow of the roof like most of the houses had throughout the neighborhood. Up close it was all remarkably normal and not what he expected for a reclusive old man’s house. He still found himself hesitating when he slowly extended his hand towards the doorbell.

His fingers trembled and he shook his hand out, forcing his thumb to press the little white button. He flinched when he heard the bell ring, lower than the one back at his house but not the resounding boom he expected. Doug should have turned and ran in that moment. That was the plan and he was supposed to stick to the plan! He beat the dare and rang the doorbell but he was still rooted to the spot, gawking at the door in front of him. Somewhere behind him he could hear Marvin and Jack trying to whisper-yell to call him back to them but they fell on deaf ears when the doorknob suddenly turned.

Would it be Marianne, or would it be Mr. Kingston?

The door caved in suddenly and Doug staggered back at the sight of a tall man standing on the other side of the doorway. Well he knew who he was looking at and it wasn’t the lesser of the two evils. Standing before him was the dreaded Mr. Kingston. He looked old but not as old as the kids had said he would be. His shoulders were hunched down, his back bent with increasing age but in his younger years he might have been tall enough to nearly touch the top of the doorframe with his head. His face was thin and wrinkled, hair gray but his eyebrows were black with a few gray strands sticking out at odd angles. He looked down his nose at Doug with a sniff, long arms crossing over his chest with gnarled fingers drumming over them.

“What do you want?” his voice was dry and rough with an accent that reminded him of the Hobbit films, some dwarves sounded like that but he had no idea where the real dialect was from.

“Uh…” he couldn’t think of a legitimate reason for being there. Doug didn’t think he needed one when he came up to the house because running away was supposed to be the plan!

Mr. Kingston blinked down at him, still waiting for him to explain himself when his eyes rose over his head and Doug jerked around to see Jack and Marvin nearly shaking where they stood, half ducked behind the garbage can. The moment they realized he had spotted them, they bolted back down the hill, leaving Doug still standing on the porch with the same old man standing right behind him. He slowly turned around to face him again and realized he was actually smirking after the two that had run away.

Stepping back, he looked down at Doug and held the door open. “Why don’t you just come inside?”

He swept his arm inside, inviting him in with a mocking gesture and that same smirk on his lips that should have been more unnerving than inviting. Doug’s feet moved before he even realized it, carrying him over the threshold and inside of the house. Mr. Kingston shut the door after him shortly after he was safely inside and stalked through the entrance hall while he trailed along after him. His eyes raked over every detail he could find while he followed Kingston through. The room behind the front door was huge, reaching up to the second story with a giant opening, a staircase leading to the upper floor, curling around to lead to the next floor that was half exposed over an ornate railing. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling with several little lights casting gnarled shadows on the ceiling behind the bright glow.

Mr. Kingston led him through an archway leading out of the entryway and down a hall where more doorways branched off to other rooms, eventually stepping into one of them where the lights were all on after so many dark rooms. He paused to check over his shoulder, making sure he was still following and Doug scurried to keep up, following him into the room and saw that it was a lot like his father’s library back home. It was smaller in size but well-stocked with more furniture than his dad did. There were books lining the entire back wall behind a heavy-looking desk. A chess table sat in front of one of the windows to the right, the remains of a game still standing mid-play but only one chair had been pulled back from it. Two more chairs were angled towards the desk, similar to the ones he had seen at the bank his mother worked at. It was one of those that Mr. Kingston pointed a long finger at, resulting in Doug immediately sitting down. He dropped his hands into his lap, eyes following the old man when he lowered himself into the large, narrow seat behind the desk.

It felt like he had been called to the principal’s office at school when Mr. Kingston leaned across the desk, lacing his fingers together and staring down his nose at him again.

“Once again, what do you want?” he asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Doug fidgeted in his chair.

“Your friends dared you to ring my doorbell, didn’t they?”

Doug’s head jerked up and he stared at the man across from him. “How did you know that?”

The old man smiled. “I hear the rumors you kids spread about me. Not all of them are unfounded but some of them are not true either.”

“If you know about it…why haven’t you tried to deny any of it?” Doug asked, though he immediately clammed up, squeezing his hands together tighter in his lap.

Mr. Kingston chuckled dryly, “I need my privacy. A few neighborhood kids spreading rumors actually helps me to maintain that.”

Doug raised an eyebrow now.

He seemed to notice his confusion because the corner of his mouth twitched a little higher. He leaned back into his chair a little, resting his hands on the arms. “I have an unusual sleep pattern because of my work. So, I like it when I am left alone. Kids are…louder than I prefer but I think I can manage one without too much trouble.”

Doug’s previous fears felt utterly ridiculous in front of this rather reasonable man. While he still looked scary up close, he was much _nicer_ than the rumors made him out to be. He heard stories of the man having beady black eyes and clawed fingers accompanied by an ever-present scowl. Up close, his eyes were blue and they looked sharper than a man his age should have had. His nails, while a little rough, were hardly claws, though his fingers were longer than he had ever seen before.

His eyes flicked over his head then lowered back down to him, eyebrow quirking but he maintained a stoic expression when he asked, “Do you like coke?”

“What?” Doug blinked up at him.

“Coke, you know, that soda that most of you kids drink like water?” he held his hand over the desk about as high as a bottle would have been.

“Oh, yeah!” he snapped himself out of it. “I like it.”

“Good, because that’s all I have to offer you.” He stood up, passing the chairs and Doug twisted around, wondering if he had to follow him. He was surprised when he saw that on a little table beside the doorway was a bottle of coke already sitting there. It was a glass one like the modern remake of the glass bottles with a cap that could twist off. He watched him pick it up and carry it over, removing the cap with a little hiss from the carbonation and handing it to him. The glass was ice cold even though it had been sitting on the table, as if someone had just taken it out of the fridge moments ago. He puzzled at the oddity but took a sip while Mr. Kingston sat back down across the desk from him.

“Now that the hospitality bit is cleared up, I suppose you have questions.”

“A few, though I don’t know if you’ll like hearing them.”

“Kid, this is the first time one of you have been brave enough to come talk to me in years, I’m sure I can handle whatever ridiculous assumptions you may have heard about me.” He smirked at him, the curve of his lips looking younger than he expected from an older man. “Do your worst.”

\------------

Doug gave an angry groan as Kingston slammed his piece down in front of him with a victorious laugh that left him throwing his hands in the air and leaning back into the chair. He didn’t remember when they had moved from questions to playing games of checkers but it had been an overall interesting visit with the man most kids dubbed as “the meanest old many you’ve ever seen.” If anything, he was the meanest double jumper he’d ever seen because that man had beaten him in three games before this final match, the older man smugly smirking at him as he glanced up to the grandfather clock standing in the corner.

“Well, if I keep you here any longer, your friends will think I’ve cooked you alive and eaten you.” He mused, standing up. “It’s been a pleasure, Doug.”

He almost hated to leave but when the hand extended out to him, he shook it eagerly. Doug thought checkers would be boring. He hated playing it with his grandfather because the man took hours to make one move and while he loved his grandparents, they didn’t understand a child’s attention span. After being whipped at it no matter how many times he had to strategize, it turned into his competitive spirit firing up full force and still losing to the other man.

Through the time he sat in the room with him, Doug discovered that while Mr. Kingston had a bit of a temper, he wasn’t as mean as kids made him out to be. He told him that while he was well past retirement age, he still worked at the hospital in town and that was the source of his odd hours. Marianne did indeed work for him as a sort of housekeeper and maintenance worker. The good condition of the place and more welcoming traits were all her handy work. He didn’t hate children, he simply found them noisy. The rumors of him hording lost toys were ridiculous and he finished that with a heavy sigh and a great eye roll that Doug thoroughly understood.

More odd appearances of snacks and another bottle of coke had happened during his visit as well, seeming as if they were popping into existence in the span of a few minutes whenever he turned his head. He snacked on hostess cakes and chips in between the games of checkers and talking with Mr. Kingston about the truths and falsehoods under his name.

By the time he reached the front porch again, Mr. Kingston lowered himself into a crouch, looking him in the eye on his level as he faced him.

“Feel free to visit whenever you like.” He told him, “But make sure you don’t tell your friends too much about me and ruin this little reputation I have. I only let in the brave ones, after all.”

Doug could have sworn when he saw Mr. Kingston smile he saw that his canines were a little longer than the rest of his teeth but dismissed it with a shake of his head. He had spent enough time in the man’s company to know he wasn’t as dangerous as the other kids made him out to be but he did like his method of weeding out those who could visit him and those who did not. He promised not to ruin his image before the man straightened back up and shut the door. Doug turned and ran down the steps and back to the bottom of the hill where Jack and Marvin were waiting for him by the stop sign, their eyes wide when they saw he was still alive and faces even more twisted in confusion at the even bigger surprise that he was smiling when he reached them.

\-------------------

Bog returned to the study after his impromptu guest had left, relaxing himself from the stooped posture and rolling his shoulders, fingers massaging the back of his neck and giving it a crack. The snap of tension relaxing the crick that had been forming left him sighing contentedly, closing his eyes and sinking back into his chair. The boy had been brave to come up to his house and he made sure to reward him for his courage but silently prayed that none of the other kids in the neighborhood would come calling anytime soon. He had a reputation for being a recluse and he wanted to keep it that way.

Still, talking to the boy was refreshing.

“He’s made it back down the hill.”

Bog smiled to himself, opening his eyes as Marianne appeared in the doorway. His gaze dropped to her t-shirt and scoffed at the words “Bite Me” in purple glitter displayed proudly across her chest. Her hand ran through her dark hair with a thoughtful smile on her lips and she leaned into the frame.

“Did you enjoy playing ghost caterer today?” he asked, settling down and shutting his eyes again.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I still stock your fridge to keep me fed whenever I’m here.” She stated. He could hear her walking into the study now, the sound of her boots on the floor betraying her position as she came closer. “You owe me for those cokes, by the way. I really liked those glass bottles.”

“I’ll give you an advance on your paycheck.” Bog rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips.

“Hey, don’t smudge up my hard work!” He felt her slap his wrist and chuckled, opening his eyes and looking up at her. “I barely got any sleep last night and you got to sleep through the whole application this time!”

Marianne tilted his face up towards the light, surveying her handiwork to ensure he hadn’t smudged up the makeup she had used on him. The wrinkled skin prosthetics were hard to muddle up but her highlights and contouring brush strokes might have suffered a little at his thoughtless gesture. Her lips pressed together in disapproval, brows narrowing as she fixed him with a glare that he smiled apologetically back at, laying his hands over hers and gently guiding them away from his face.

“You’re still wearing that perfume.” He murmured, catching a whiff of it from her wrist before he released her hands.

“You know you like it.” She smiled and stuck her tongue out between her teeth.

“It’s because I like it that you’re not supposed to wear it.” He reminded her with a stern look. “We talked about this, Marianne.”

She rolled her eyes, “No. _I_ talk, you shoot me down. It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of time to think it over in the past _three years_.”

“Answer is still no and tempting me with that perfume is just playing dirty.” He reminded her, standing up from his chair and going to the window. With the brush of his hand, he eased the curtain aside and looked down the eastern side of the hill to the houses below. “Hopefully he doesn’t tell too many people about today.”

“If you’re so worried about your scary reputation, why did you let him in?” she asked, letting him drop the subject in favor of the more relevant question.

“You were whining about having no Trick or Treaters at Halloween.” He glanced over at her, “I figured letting one child in would be a good start in shutting you up this year.”

Marianne’s expression softened as she stared at him, surprised by his gesture to appease her when he had been so adamant against opening up to the rest of the neighborhood for well over three decades before she came around. She smiled and nudged him with her elbow, the both of them looking down on the town below. Bog felt her ease a little closer to him but they didn’t touch.

“You know, Bog…you’re a horrible vampire,” she murmured, “but you’re a _hell_ of a man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prologue is pretty much where all of the brainstorming came into place. It kicks off Marianne and Bog's one-shots in a way because it sets the scene for the life Bog has made for himself and how other people see him, not everyone sees what Marianne does after all.


	2. Cinema

Movies had come a long way since their debut in the later part of the 1800’s. The grease paint of old that was once used to enhance facial features for the finicky camera lens had evolved along with the technology until it was nothing more than a theater’s tool. The modern film was now a combination of living actors and computer images, more of them pouring from the money-hungry studios than a consumer could even keep up with. It had come a long way since Bog had first sat down in front of a screen, watching black and white images jumping frame by frame through the projector. Not that he didn’t like the change. Some films were breathing life into old classics to remind the younger generations of stories long past their shelf life. Times were changing and every story clambered for immortality on the silver screen. Once you were on film, you were rarely ever forgotten.

Bog appreciated films from the blockbusters to the flops, but his interest lay more in the effort it took to make the films than the actual pieces themselves. There was a process used in the movies that could make an old man look younger, and a young woman into a fearsome creature in the matter of a few hours and some choice items. That kind of movie magic was just what he needed.

Makeup effects would be the key.

He took his time in researching it himself. Through the marvel of the internet he found plenty of tutorials and guides online, YouTube and social media accounts where people broke down the process from simple shading to intricate prosthetic pieces. He read, watched, and scrolled for countless hours and yet even after he had spend a small fortune on everything recommended that he would need, he was utter shit at applying the effects to himself. His hands shook too much, he couldn’t hold an eye open long enough, the hair wouldn’t lie in the right place, and his shading was _horrible_.

What was a dusty old vampire to do?

Bog’s time was running out on his property. People were growing suspicious of how unchanged he had looked over the years. Adding touches of gray to his hair with boxed dyes from the convenience store could only deflect so many stares. His whole head was now a collective shade of false gray and he could walk in a hunch, mime slower movements to suit an advancing age but all of that couldn’t sell the façade if his blasted face looked no worse-off than a thirty-five year old. Hiding behind sunglasses was just pathetic and scarves were useless in southern California. Bog was running out of time and ways to hide his lack of aging and if he didn’t find a way to make this makeup effect thing work, he was going to have to pack up and move again. The life of a nomad was a daunting one and he wanted no part of it after enduring such a life for centuries. Unfortunately, if he wanted to keep his house, his land, and his life in one place, he would have to get this thing down and from where he stood, that wasn’t happening anytime soon.  


He needed a professional.

\------------

 

“TELL THAT CHEATING NEANDERTHAL HE CAN’T ACT HIS WAY OUT OF A PAPER BAG!”

The only response she received were the studio gates slamming in her face. Stone-faced security guards striding off to their posts while she stuck her tongue out at their backs, hitching the strap of her makeup kit further up her shoulder. She looked down at the base of the gates and delivered a swift kick at them, grunting and leaning into it with a groan when pain shot through her foot after the blow. Served her right for wearing girly boots that were made for walking and not taking out burning hatred on inanimate objects. Dawn had bought the boots on sale and gave them to her as a birthday present barely a week ago, back when she was still riding down ignorance road and making a wrong turn at bliss.

Finding out your small-time actor boyfriend was cheating on you with his busty costar on the set of a soap opera of all things ironic was not what Marianne had been expecting when she showed up for work that day. Color her pissed off when she saw him moaning and groaning while his silent bed partner tried to find satisfaction through the God-awful noises he made. She had ran off before she could confront him, saving it for when he would be at her mercy in his trailer later and she would have to accentuate that perfectly perfect face of his. Of course, her typical color job was going to include a few more shades of black and blue that time around.

That was how Marianne ended up fired and slumping into the gates of the studio, nearly on the verge of begging for her job back even though her insides were crowing in victory so loud Peter Pan would have been envious. She had torn into Roland like a bat out of hell before the security guards had pulled her off of him. At first she started subtle, of course. She had smiled and greeted him as normally as her seething hatred would allow, escorting him to his chair and preparing him for his first scene of the day. When she took the fine-bristled brush to his face to begin contouring, her hand “accidentally” slipped and the brush jabbed right into Roland’s eye. She sweetly apologized and went back to work, practically singing when his eye turned red from the irritation. After a few more “slip-ups” Roland had attempted to back out of his morning ritual and try to escape her and that’s when she began to question him. The moment he started sprouting lies, she abandoned her tony-winning performance and unleashed hell.

Even knowing that she was unemployed, she allowed herself to feel a sense of satisfaction in all her fury. She had beaten Roland enough to give the man a black eye among other things and she was lucky no one was pressing charges because of the need to avoid a scandal but that was about it on her luck meter. The reality of her present situation was starting to get heavier the longer she stared through the bars of the gate.

“Oh…hell…” she murmured, fingers clutching the bars.

Marianne Springdale really was well and thoroughly _fucked_. Four years of study, a spiel in Tom Savini’s special make-up effects program, three years of actual experience in the cinematic profession and now here she was. Her dad could look her in the eye the minute she showed up Thanksgiving Day and say the four most soul-ripping words known to any college dropout who ran away from practicality and safe professions to live their dream. “I told you so.” Even imagining him stating this made her cringe, turning away and leaning into the gates with a defeated sigh.

She hadn’t been job hunting in years. It had been a miracle she even managed to get this one in the first place. Fairview Studios was one of the top-grossing studios in the business and she managed to get herself booted out of it because she couldn’t keep herself under control in the face of her cheating now ex-fiancé. Throwing her ring at his head had been the cherry on top of the whole encounter, calling off the wedding with a one-fingered salute as she was hauled out of the trailer. At least she could carry that with her to her next job interview. Maybe bosses liked it when you couldn’t only apply your craft well but you also had a killer right hook to boot?

“Excuse me,” Marianne lifted her head up, not remembering when she had sagged to the ground in her fit of despair and found herself looking up at a tall, thin man with pointed features and a puzzled lift to his angular left eyebrow. They were like Jack Nicholson brows if she had to compare them to anything. “I need to get through and you’re in the way.”

She frowned at him, narrowing her eyes up at his stupid pointed eyebrows. Didn't he see she was in the middle of an emotional crisis here?

“I didn’t know they were casting for a Nosferatu re-vamp.” Marianne smirked when his brows furrowed in anger. “Ooh, so _scary_! Are you going to claw your fingers and creep up a staircase now?” She clawed her own fingers and sucked in her lower lip to try and make her upper teeth stand out. Her canines were not impressive stand-ins for fangs but she felt that she made her point since tall, pale, and angular was practically seething now. He had the long fingers and hunching back down to a T and if she were a casting director, he’d be hired on the spot if there was such a movie.

“I wouldn’t mock me if I were you.” He warned her.

“Still not scared!” She sing-songed.

His gaze shot heaven-ward then fell back to her, “You are a damned exasperating woman!”

“Ooh, talk some more, your accent is almost perfect Scot!”

The fury turned to sheer confusion at that statement and she cackled, throwing her head back.

“Are you drunk?” he asked, his voice suddenly going flat.

She laughed again, letting her head hit the gate now with a thud but didn’t cringe from the pain. Her heart was suffering more than any head injury could master at this point. Marianne could feel the stages of grief were starting to transcend into the next level. Anger came and she was still riding on its coattails but now that the stranger had distracted her, she was on the brink of falling into the pit of despair. Her laughter died, trailing into a sigh as she let her head loll to the side enough to peer up at him through her mussed bangs.

“No, but I _should_ be.”

Nosferatu’s confusion continued to reign supreme on his face, her eyes trailing to the partial gap between his lips where his mouth set in an expression of puzzlement. She could see his canines needed no enhancement if he was auditioning for something. They looked a little longer than the rest of his teeth already. The man pressed his lips together and he cleared his throat. Marianne really wished she was drunk; at least it would have been a better feeling than what she encountered in that moment.

“I don’ have time for this. I need to go inside.”

“Why, are you looking for a job?” she asked with a scoff, “Take mine. It just opened up.” Marianne removed the strap of her makeup kit from around her shoulder and held it up to him. He eyed it a moment then looked down at her.

“What is that?”

“It’s a make-up kit. You’re going to want one if you’re applying for my old job now, Nosferatu.”

Something in his expression changed in that moment, the puzzlement melting into an almost neutral expression as he observed her, folding his arms and tilting his head to the side. “You’re a make-up artist?”

“I _was_ a mahk up arrrtist.” She mimicked his accent, wriggling her fingers in the air before she let them fall limp to her sides on the cement. “Right now I am an unemployed, single, self-pitying sidewalk potato.”

He wrinkled his nose at her attempt at his accent but little else. “Well, I’m not here looking for a job. I am actually looking to give one.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow of her own at this.

“ _You’re_ hiring? Who goes to an in-demand film company to hire someone that isn’t already set with a job in there?” She jerked a thumb at the buildings laid out behind her and the gate still at her back.

“I do,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m looking for a make-up artist that would be willing to work for me.”

The man was looking for a make-up artist willing to quit their Hollywood dream and go work for him? She wondered what kind of a sales pitch he was going to offer up to the security guards that would inspire them to let him in past the gate. Even if he got as far as the studios, she doubted anyone would bite. No one needed a job because they already had one here. But she did. Marianne needed a job and fast because she had an apartment to keep in her name and a car fund to fill without digging into her dad’s pockets.  


“What does a guy like you need from a make-up artist?” she asked.

“Just their skill, nothing more.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I need someone who can alter my appearance.”

She scoffed, taking in his gaunt features with a skeptical quirk of the lips. “With your pointy face, you’re going to need prosthetics to make _that_ magic happen.”

He sighed, crouching down beside her, resting his elbows upon his knees. “I don’t need my face to change. I only need it to age.”

This made her start to grow wary, scooting a bit further from him while he gave some semblance of a smile. When he did so it seemed to soften his features a bit but not enough to make her trust him any farther than she could possibly throw him. Even with his skinny ass, she wasn’t strong enough to throw him far. Still, this man, while a little awkward and leaning on the creeper side, had an oddly intimidating quality to him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He radiated “dork” at first but there was an undertone that made her feel like she needed to be careful around him. She should have known now more than ever that people were not always how they seemed to be after all.

“Tell you what,” she hauled herself to her feet and he straightened up as well, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You come with me to the Three Little Birds, buy me a drink, and I’ll listen to your proposal explaining to me why in the hell you need a make-up artist. If I like it, you get an employee, if I don’t, you leave five bucks poorer. Deal?”  


He thought about it, sneering a little but he eventually gave a stiff nod.

“Deal.”

“Oh, and if I find out you’re a mortician, I’m gone.”

\------------

“Wow you have a big house!”

This was a bad idea.

“The ceiling goes on forever!” her voice echoed off the walls of the entryway, reverberating in his ears and nearly deafening him.

This was a very bad idea.

“Ever heard of this new thing called electricity? Supposed to be very innovative and illuminating!” she giggled, thumping a fist against his back, making him clench his teeth even tighter as he hauled the drunken woman currently slung over his shoulder up the stairs to the second floor.

This was a very, _very_ bad idea!

Bog regretted every step he took in bringing the intoxicated make-up artist home with him. He should have found out where she lived and dumped her there with his phone number so she could call him when she was sober enough to finalize the details in her agreement to work for him. Should have, could have, would have, but didn’t. Now he was stuck with a human woman draped over his shoulder, her fingers prodding into his back or tugging on his coat with comments on how sharp his shoulder blades were or how long his legs looked following him the entire walk home. It was a blessing to finally edge into one of the house’s guest bedrooms and deposit her unceremoniously on the mattress.

She bounced on the springs, giggling in her influenced state, rolling around one side to the other while getting a feel for the unused mattress. He dropped her makeup case to the floor beside the bed and straightened out his jacket with a few tugs. With the level of alcohol in her blood, she should have been well and truly passed out by now if her tolerance were any lower. He had been impressed by how many shots and beers she consumed before she was this far gone from all sense of reason. Now he was just ready to kick himself.

Between bits and pieces of his proposal at the Three Little Birds, she interrupted him with stories about a man named Roland. He recognized the name from different television series he browsed on off days spent at home but other than that he learned this Roland was a two-timing asshole with no respect for a woman’s feelings on sex and then having no talent when he finally “got them in the sack.” Bog had snickered a few times at her ragging on Roland’s lack of talent in bed but by the end of her ranting, he had to put another shot on the increasing bar tab to keep her from sobbing all over herself. The alcohol held the tears at bay but after she had agreed to be his make-up artist, she had one too many and more would only poison at that point.

Bog endured her leaning into him, her face buried in a scrap of the tablecloth she half pulled off of the table in her sorrow. He stiffly apologized for the male race when she blamed him for everything negative she ever encountered at a man’s hand. When she slumped into his chest, makeup smearing on his shirt in the process, he nearly panicked, his hands hovering useless at his sides while she sobbed until he finally gave her back a single pat, coaxing her away from him with fingers on her shoulders until she recovered enough to rise and find a bathroom. Even that turned into another hassle when the owner of the establishment found him later and told him she had been found half passed-out in the floor of the ladies’ room.

Now that she was safely parallel to the floor and no longer draped over his shoulder, he could begin the process of getting her scent off of him and out of his nose along with the stench of alcohol and cheap cigarette smoke from the bar. He left her in the guest room as soon as she had fallen asleep, easing the door shut after him and sighing once he was in the relative safety of the hallway. He leaned a hip into the doorframe, dragging a hand through his hair with a huff.

“What am I doing?” he murmured, pushing away from the door and retreating up the passageway. “Bringing a woman here…it’s just asking for trouble.”

Funny thing, trouble, he never ran from it before and now he wished he had. This woman he managed to hire into his services before she had become too drunk to stand straight reeked of hassle the moment he crossed paths with her outside of the studio. She had looked pathetic there on the ground but when she looked up at him she had almond eyes of honey gold but her tongue bore none of its sweetness. When she stood up she barely came to his collarbone in height and yet she was of such a willowy build she looked taller than most of the women they passed on the walk to the bar. The woman, Marianne, that was her name, was attractive, but also a loaded pistol when not limbered up by alcohol.

He showered to cleanse himself of the smell of her, traces of red vanilla orchids and neroli flowers prominent in the mix of a type of perfume that combined floral, wood, and fruity smells that suited her entirely. At least she had worn perfume and not the typical scented deodorants he had endured from women these days combined with watered down body sprays. It was a good smell, Marianne’s smell, but he needed to get it off of him before he got hungry. The last thing he needed was to snack on his new employee before he even gave her a full trial period. There was no guarantee she would be any good at makeup after all and if that were the case, he wasted an entire evening indulging a complete stranger in a free night of drinking.

When he emerged from the shower smelling some semblance of himself combined with the strongly scented body wash that was only used in case of emergencies, he dressed quickly and forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed and trap his head in a towel, fingers rapidly trying to dry his hair and drive her smell out of his mind at the same time. The scent was mostly gone but he remembered the top, heart, and base notes of the blasted perfume, which was just as bad as still smelling it. He hadn’t eaten in days and her perfume was like the smell of a broiling steak to a starving man.

Nearly a week ago he cornered a redhead at Aura’s club after she pointed her out to him with information that she had a vampire obsession. Those women who indulged in fantasy like that were always easier to feed from; they were more willing to give it up than most. He discovered she was one of those women who was a donor to humans who passed as vampires, drinking small amounts of blood for a variety of reasons that were not always as simple as wanting to stay alive like he had to do. With that fact in the open, most modern vampires used razors instead of fangs to draw blood, he had to use the same practice to avoid questions and took it from the inside of her elbow. It wasn’t as chaste as the wrist but it wasn’t as intimate as a neck bite would have been. Bog hadn’t touched necks in decades but he did miss the practice of using his teeth to do the job. Using a razor was messy work; teeth were much cleaner in spite of popular belief. At least it was easier for them to give consent than trying to convince them you were an honest vampire and not just in name.

A razor cut just wasn’t as satisfying as an uninterrupted connection to an artery. He was feeling the truth in that when his throat burned, Bog slipping the towel down to his neck and letting it hang about his shoulders while fingers slid over his parched throat. The promise of fresh blood in his house was so tempting but so off limits at the same time. He growled in his throat, nails biting into the skin at his neck, unable to distract himself from his hunger.  
He needed to get out of there.

Combing his hair back with his fingers, he forced himself to prepare to leave the house, striding through the passages with every intention of blazing right out the front door without a second glance at the room that contained his unwanted house guest inside. Instead, he heard her voice murmuring on the other side of the door and ended up backtracking to it, listening at the wood and hearing her soft breathing on the other side. He was burning to go in and just have a bite, a little nibble. He would do it at her wrist, simple and easily passed off as a cut by the time she woke up in the morning. It wouldn’t be hard. It would be easy. _So easy_ …

Slowly opening her door, he peered inside, swallowing as he observed her still sleeping. She had kicked the covers askew underneath her in her previous flopping around, pillows on the floor after having been knocked off the bed but one was tucked under her head and she was half-smiling into it while leaving a trace of drool on the pillowcase betraying how deeply she slept. Bog approached the bed, hovering near the edge of it, fingers twitching then fisting at his sides while he continued to struggle with himself.  
Lowering himself to a knee, he leaned over the bed and slipped his fingers under her wrist, drawing it up off of the sheets and turning it over in his hands. She was warm and lightly tanned, like most of the women he fed from that basked in the California sun. He took care in holding her wrist when he leaned in to take the plunge, one cupped around her fingers while the other supported the weight of her arm. His mouth opened, fangs elongated, and ready to go but he barely got close when she shifted and he nearly dropped her arm to run away before she woke up. Instead, her wrist turned over, fingers sliding along the web of skin between his thumb and index finger until she slipped it into his open palm. He suddenly found his arm confiscated, straining not to hit the bed when she pulled at his hand, holding I close.

“Dawn…” her voice was broken from distress that seemed to follow her even in sleep. “…I thought…he loved me.”

Bog didn’t know who Dawn was but the utter sadness in those murmured words wrapped around his heart and squeezed with a tight-fisted grip. Even in her sleep, she was heartbroken by this Roland guy and while he hated love in all its forms, he understood the pain she must have gone through that day. Perhaps that was what led to him sitting on the floor beside her bed, his hand compromised, for he would not dare wake her up by pulling it away. He knew what a broken heart felt like and how chronic the pain could be even after so many years.

Maybe that similar pain would be the starting point for both of them in this strange arrangement they would eventually make between themselves. A centuries-old vampire living under the façade of an old man who lived alone in the house on the hill, his only visitor being this pretty young woman with a suitcase in tow every morning. What an odd camaraderie the two would make between one another, day after day with her standing over him, working her magic over his face and hands, aging him little by little, month after month. Bog enjoyed her company whenever she was there to prepare him for another day of facing the world as a “normal” human being. Marianne had even taken the news of his being a vampire and immortal remarkably well. (It was funny how working in the movie business ruined most people’s fear-factors these days.)He only wished that he could let this friendship founded on a chance meeting in front of a movie studio endure further centuries to come. But it couldn’t, no matter how stubborn Marianne was being on the matter.

Every morning she would tell him he could turn her.

Every evening, he would tell her the answer was still no.


	3. The First Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warned you these would be one-shots that jumped around their timeline.  
> This is a story of the first time Bog bites Marianne for some blood. Not a very romantic encounter because these two are just employer/employee right now but they are already on the road to friends with some awkward feelings mixed in there as well.  
> I have VERY limited medical knowledge so pardon any inaccuracies!
> 
> This happens about a month into Marianne's employment with him so she hasn't been there long but they bonded pretty quickly.

“If you touch your eyes one more time, I’m staking you with my shading brush!”

“That setting powder got in my eye!” Bog growled, lifting his head up from the chair and Marianne pushed it back down, careful to avoid the prosthetic she had painstakingly applied minutes ago.

“Suck it up, Wing Man! I thought vampires were supposed to be immortal, nothing-can-hurt-me badasses!”

“We can still feel pain, you know!” he grit through his teeth, the fangs elongating a little more in his irritation. Marianne marveled at the sight of them, using two fingers to pry his lips further apart much to his surprise.

“It’s so weird!” she prodded one of them with her fingertip, “Jeez, they’re about as big as an average canine, just longer. These have got to _hurt_ when you’re gnawing on someone’s neck.”

He slapped her hand away, licking at his teeth to remoisten them where they had been exposed to the air too long. “I don’t ‘gnaw’ on people, especially not their necks.”

“Isn’t that the go-to place for vampires though?” she asked, resting her hand on her hip and cocking an eyebrow.  
“Not me. Necks aren’t my area.”

Marianne pressed her lips together with a little purse before she nodded her head and went back to work before he could start squirming again. She still had to finish off the blending before he was ready to get up and the new liver spot coming in still needed a little dulling down if it was supposed to be convincing. Leaning over him, she used her pinky to drag the Polaroid closer to check the previous day’s job for a comparison. Doing this day by day aging process was a little daunting. They were only a few weeks into it now and after he had dropped the bomb that he was a vampire to her, Marianne’s dedication to making it look convincing only seemed to increase. She squinted at the wrinkles and checked her coloring for consistency.

“Alright boss, I’m going to ease off on this liver spot and you should be good to squirm to your heart’s content.” She tapped the picture with a smile then went back to the offending spot, switching out her brushes and dabbing at the make-up on the back of her hand before leaning over him and gently blending in the edges a little to soften the spot up to look a little more faded. Stepping back from him, he sat upright and she folded her arms, tilting her head to the side while she checked her work, wiggling the brush between her fingers. “One wrinkled old crab-ass up!”

“Charming.” He sneered, climbing out of the old stylist chair he had ordered specifically for this purpose. Marianne climbed into it in his stead, setting the brush behind her ear and folding her arms behind her head while he went into his bathroom to check on her work.

Bog’s house was pretty big for one man to be living alone in but he made due with the space he had. His bedroom was decently sized without creeping into too much space. He had a closet to one side of the room, again, spacious but there was only one rack of clothes on the left with a glaringly empty space to the right side of the closet. The en suite was on the other side, a pocket door leading inside to a vintage bathroom with pedestal sink and claw-footed tub but there was also a shower in the corner with a curved door of frosted glass. He had all of his man-scentials stashed in a medicine cabinet above a practically useless toilet (because, let’s face it, vamps don’t potty.)

The only thing that didn’t fit in was the door on the other side of the bathroom leading into what was supposed to be another bedroom but he had converted it into a sort of make-up studio where he had the chair set up and built-in shelves bearing endless supplies like the man had cleaned out Kryolan of everything they had in stock. Marianne nearly died and went to make up heaven when she first walked into the room the first day he had her try out. Turns out he had been trying to do it himself this whole time but was practically useless at it.

“Good job, as always.” He complimented, tacking on that last statement with an indulgent smile that she preened at a bit as he picked up his shirt from where it had been draped over the back of the chair during the application.

“Wearing the suspenders today, grandpa?” she asked with a snicker when she saw them dangling at his thighs.

Bog grimaced, tugging the collar straight and buttoning up over the white undershirt. “I have to go to the hospital today to talk to a family that is trying to sue one of my doctors. The suspenders seem to aid to the ‘poor old man’ vibe I’m trying to give. Maybe it will help them back off.”

Marianne snickered. She couldn’t imagine this man looking innocent enough for such a feat. It was almost disturbing seeing this perfect old age make-up on a man who stood ridiculously tall with wide shoulders thrown back and spine straight as he faced himself in the bathroom mirror, combing his fingers through his dyed hair that was a permanent mixture between dull brown and gray shades blending together. He tucked the shirt in and dragged the suspender straps over his arms, straightening them out with his thumbs hooked underneath then letting them lay flat.

“Nothing says ‘harmless’ like a pair of harlequin suspenders.” Marianne smirked, using her foot to spin herself around in the chair.

He looked down his nose at her as she let herself continue to spin in circles, his hands stopping the chair and leaning down over her until they were nearly nose to nose. Marianne’s heart skipped a beat at his sudden close proximity, her personal bubble feeling pretty invaded while he loomed over her. She buckled a bit under the sour stare he was giving her, grinning up at him nervously until he sniffed.

“You can tease all you want. The suspenders stay for now.” He groused drawing back and she gave a two-fingered salute to her forehead, realizing she had sagged even lower in the chair during their little stare-down and hastily squirmed her way back upright.

“So what do I do until you get come back to the bat cave?” she asked as he tugged a little at his shirt to make it look unevenly tucked-in. He was playing up the harmless old man bit some more it seemed.

“You can go home. I’m not responsible for what you do with your free time.” He waved her off, stalking into his bedroom.

Marianne wrinkled her nose at the idea of going home, removing the brush from behind her ear and taking it into the bathroom along with her other brushes, washing them out in the sink and patting them dry on a towel. She couldn’t use Bog’s bathroom towels, not after the stains she left on the last one she tried that stunt on. No, she had to go to the dollar store and buy her own towel for the task. It was a hand towel with garlic embroidered on the ends. Bog didn’t appreciate her sense of humor but she got a huge kick out of it. It was now her favorite towel and she hung it in a place of honor on his towel rod in between his slate gray bath towels that looked more like throw blankets than the puny towels she had back home.  


Lucky rich bastard.

\------------

“You’re grouchier than usual.” Marianne observed while she worked at removing his make-up after he had called her nearly an hour ago, asking her help remove it with irritable growls and reluctant politeness.

“I’m hungry.” He growled, closing his eyes. “I had three bags since I came home and I’m still _starving_!”

“That’s what happens when you’re thirsty and all you have is Capri Sun. Those juice bags aren’t enough for an adult to drink without needing the whole box to do any good so I guess the blood bags work the same way for a vampire.”

He snickered at the comparison, shifting in the make-up chair again, still restless from hunger. She rapped him on the forehead with the nearest brush and he finally fell still. Satisfied, she dropped the brush back into its cup and set to work. She carefully applied the remover along the seams of the prosthetics. He was always impatient with them and ripped more than one in his effort to get them off, much to her annoyance. Every latex piece he ripped, she had to mold a new one to replace it.

“Okay, I’ve got your forehead piece.” She peeled it away, one edge stuck a little but that came free with a little coaxing from her running her finger beneath the seam, smoothing across his skin while his eyebrows knit together, eyes still shut tight. Once it was free, she laid it upon the tray to clean off the rest of the glue from the piece so that it could be reused. “Are you going to go find a donor then?”

It was creepy that she was getting used to talking about this sort of thing. Talking to a vampire about biting people as casually as she would mention going to the Three Little Birds with Dawn for a burger, fries, and a stout beer. She had no idea what his methods were, how he bit people, how much blood he took from them…kind of scary thinking that this stick-figure dork was capable of potentially _killing_ someone if he wasn’t careful. The same teeth that she had prodded like nothing that morning could have been capable of ripping out a throat at the same time. He only smacked her hand away instead of chomping on her finger for invading his personal space like he could have done.

“I have to.” He sighed, massaging his forehead, rubbing at the residue of the adhesive and peeling it off with a frown. “Too many bags wouldn’t supply enough nutrition. I went too long without a new donor so the bags are becoming insufficient. Like your previous example, it isn’t enough to just have a few bags. I need fresh blood to make up where the bags fell short.”

“Where are you going to look?”

“Bars are the easiest options.” He snatched up the damp washcloth from beside his chair and wiped at his face, nit-picking glue spots in between abrasive rubs that would have done horrors on a living person’s skin. “But the alcohol in the blood stream is atrocious.”

Bog wrinkled his nose in distaste and Marianne could just imagine how awful it would be to taste the aftereffects of someone’s buzz. Bars were places people met to socialize with their friends, celebrate, drown out memories of exes, or just get drunk for the sake of being drunk. She knew the bar scene intimately and even with the variety of places to choose from in town, there was a chance he wouldn’t find any good candidates in one night. Not everyone was into the vampire scene after all. If he chose the wrong person to bite, he could be discovered and then where would she be? No vampire, no paycheck!

“How about me?” she asked in the middle of peeling off a bit of the tacky adhesive and flicking it into the trash. She heard him twitch, the chair giving a small squeak betraying the movement and her hands stilled at the same time. Marianne searched the flesh-toned prosthetic, swallowing when she realized what she had just offered up so casually and hoped some kind of explanation would be found scratched into the latex.

“What?” Bog’s stunned question caught her attention and she glanced back at him, his fingers freezing in mid-wipe with the cloth on his stubbly cheek.

“I…don’t have any alcohol in my system, I know you’re a vampire so you don’t have the mess of keeping it a secret, and I have no one waiting for me at the house to ask questions if I come back with some teeth marks.”

He dropped the washcloth, the terrycloth slumping harmless into his lap. Her gaze flicked from the empty hand to the discarded cloth and in a flash he was sitting up in the chair and glaring at her. She nearly staggered back at how fast the sucker had moved. “You know, saying you’ll be home alone…that’s dangerous information to give something like me.”

“Yeah but you need me so I think we’re gravy.” She pointed out and he rolled his eyes, which she mimicked back. “Look, I’m only offering to do this to make it easier on you, Bog. You can say no if you want but I fail to see a draw-back here.”

He snarled, fangs exposed right in her face and she wrinkled her nose at him. Apparently the fangs got longer when he was hungry and it wasn’t just an intimidation trait whenever he was pissy. Dually noted. Also, more importantly, Wing Man needed to brush his teeth.

Bog climbed out of the chair and left the room, Marianne removing her gloves. She tossed them in the trash, abandoning her cleaning and chasing him on his heels. He suddenly stopped in the bathroom and she slammed right into his back, the both of them grunting from the impact but he barely flinched while she was knocked back a step. Without apologizing for his abrupt halt, Bog ignored her and started rifling through his medicine cabinet. Marianne hovered at his side, noticing the disproving press of his lips as he dug around.

“I know this goes against employer/employee status.” She pointed out, folding her arms across her chest. “Stubborn ass that you are, I want to help you out.”

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” He shoved a box of Band-Aids into her chest, Marianne’s hands jumping up to hold it once he let go. He continued to dig around the shelves while she raised an eyebrow up at him. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, brows furrowing. “Go sit somewhere you think is comfortable.”

“Got it.” She went into his room and claimed a corner of his bed, bouncing on the soft mattress while innocently peering about his room with its antique but sturdy furniture ranging from the dresser to the solid structure of the bed frame. His color choices were neutrals and dark woods but at least it was tasteful. Dawn would have wanted to throw spots of color across the room and he was lucky Marianne hadn’t brought her over to his house. The girl would have had a field day designing a new color wheel for the man.  


He came out of the bathroom carrying a few cotton balls and a small packet containing an alcohol pad, which he laid on the bed beside her. Apparently he was going to bandage her up once he was finished, like they did whenever you went off to donate blood. Marianne had donated blood before; maybe this wasn’t going to be much different?  


“Do you do this with all of your donors?”

“Only the ones who know what’s about to happen to them.” Bog said taking the bandage box from her and prying the flimsy cardboard lid open. “The others…well...”

“Oh.” Her throat felt a little dryer at the uncomfortable expression that crossed his face before he focused on pulling out a band-aid and tossing the box aside.

He knelt down on the floor beside her legs and held out his hand. “Give me your arm.”

Marianne looked down at her left hand then his open palm. “Why?”

“I’m going to use your wrist.”

“My wrist?” She quirked an eyebrow, “Why there?”

He pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. “Because it’s easier.”

“But I need that arm!” Marianne held it over her head, out of his reach.

“You’re right handed.” He deadpanned.

“Yeah, but I need both arms to work.”

Bog rolled his eyes now. “It’s not going to cripple you, Marianne. Your wrist is just going to feel sore for a couple of days.”

“Explain that Dawn when I can’t carry her shopping bags.” She grumbled, Bog’s gaze turning curious but she waved it off and pushed at her t shirt collar. “Just bite my neck, fang man. It’s tradition!”

“I told you I don’t like the neck.” He wrinkled his nose again.

“God, you’re such a baby!” she groaned. “No wonder you have to find people drunk off their asses to give you blood!”

“Marianne--“

“Wait…” Marianne’s lips quirked up a little as she regarded him. “Oh, I see what’s going on here.”

Reaching out to him, she laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, Bog’s face twisting with confusion as he leaned a bit away from her but she stopped him with her other hand grasping the other shoulder. She leaned down, looking him dead in the eye with all the seriousness she could muster, though it was hard to keep the smirk off her face. His eyes widened the longer she stared him down, he almost looked nervous seeing her looking so serious.

“Bog, are you a virgin to necking?”

The nerves dropped and his face contorted to a glare, eyes narrowing and brows low, knitted together. Marianne struggled to hold back her mirth, pressing her lips together to contain it but air was escaping despite her efforts. He shoved her hands away with a growl and she burst, the laugh springing free abrupt and loud before it broke into dozens of cackles that left her rocking back onto the mattress, kicking her feet and clutching to her stomach. He let her have her laugh but looked ready to strangle her by the time she managed to sit back up, cupping her hands over her exposed neck.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea my neck was so _indecently_ exposed to you!” she teased, faking a scandalized expression then ruining it by giggling and he started to get up. She knew he was going to stomp off. He was so childish like that, having done it before so many times since she had come to work for him that it left her sides sore from the entertainment she got out of his sulking. Now, however, she supposed she was being a bit hard on him so she reached out, catching his arm before he could get away. “Sorry, sorry! Really, Bog. I am.”

“I’ve bitten there plenty of times.” He grumbled, “I just prefer not to. You try getting your mouth around something as thick as your calf and see how _you_ like it.”

“So it’s a pain in the…jaw?” she raised an eyebrow.

He averted his eyes. “Among other things...”

Something about his lack of looking at her when he said that seemed to make his reason behind not telling her more personal than the simple discomfort of opening his mouth too wide. Perhaps it really was none of her business why he wouldn’t do it like all of the stories said vampires bit people. He wanted her wrist and maybe that was what worked best for him. She preferred to eat pizza crust first, so why couldn’t he prefer a wrist over a neck?

He sank onto the bed beside her, brushing aside the medical supplies and she felt herself incline slightly towards him from the weight of his body dipping the mattress. Marianne moved to shift away from him, the closeness setting off warning bells to her comfort zone again and she gradually realized that maybe the neck might not have been the best option after all.

She had become too comfortable with Bog. Their physical contact was limited to her touching his face for the make-up effects and punching him in the arm whenever he squirmed too much. He barely touched her unless he was shoving her away. Somehow she had completely forgotten that she was supposed to hate touching when he was involved. Well, she didn’t forget, Bog just simply became exempt from it. He had become such a daily thing it was more like hanging out with a cousin than a grouchy vampire playing old man every day.

Fuck it.

“Let’s do this.” She held her shoulders back, elongating her neck as much as possible. His eyes dropped to it and she saw his throat move up and down with a swallow. Apparently that had gotten his attention.

“It’s going to hurt, Marianne.” He glanced up at her, his warning tone dry from thirst.

“I’ll deal with it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve seen your chompers. I figured it wasn’t going to be an orgasmic experience like they describe it in books…if I read them, which I didn’t.”

Her quick finish made him smile a little, dropping his eyes back to her neck. “Alright, well, I’m going to have to…”

He leaned closer to her and she winced, Bog immediately stopping. She shook it off, closing her eyes and nodding her head to give the go-ahead. If she kept her eyes closed, she wouldn’t have to see him so close to her. Instead, she could feel him, the presence of him looming near then his body shifting to accommodate their seated positions. His bony knee touched hers as he folded one leg on the bed, the other leg probably still on the floor while he leaned in.

Marianne could feel the touch of his fingers against the her chin, gently nudging it up and she obliged him, tilting her head back and feeling the palm of his other hand against her spine. Touching her shoulder, she stiffened when she felt the brush of his hair against her jaw line and a presence against her neck, wet and lukewarm in temperature compared to memories of hot lips that made her inwardly cringe when she remembered whose mouth those heated kisses used to belong to. This, however, wasn’t a kiss. It was an open mouth with a careful scrape of teeth that grazed her skin until he found the spot he wanted.

The sudden clamping down on her neck made her jolt, a gasp cutting her breath short before she heaved in another one to make a strangling, pained sound. It hurt. It hurt like HELL! Marianne clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes tighter shut at the force of his bite pinching a mouthful of her skin and the fangs forcing their way through to the artery beneath. It was like getting stabbed by a blunt object, like when Perry Fuller stabbed her in the leg with a pencil back in fourth grade only it was two pencils and a pinch combined together into one painful experience.

He eased the clamping force of his bite; she could still feel his teeth in her skin, barely drawing out to let the blood flow around them through the fresh wounds. She could feel her own warmth bleeding out into his mouth, the suction of his first drink pulling on the tender punctures and she wanted to punch him in the side of the head to get him off of her but felt his palm against her back, a slow smooth stroke running down in an apologetic gesture. His tongue brushed her skin, warm and slick from her blood but it was the most pleasant part of the bite she had experienced.

Aside from her pained breaths, the room was deathly silent. However, Bog startled Marianne by the little noise he made in his throat at the end of his first swallow. It was small and subtle but when he had enough to take another pull from the flow; he ground out a low moan against her neck. It was not a groan of frustration or remorse, Marianne could tell that much. It was a groan of _pleasure_. 

Whatever blood she had in her face immediately went to her cheeks, flaring them with a burning blush. Marianne Springdale was actually growing flustered by her boss sucking on her neck. Her pain lingered like an afterthought behind the embarrassment she was feeling, his moan still in her ears even though he had gone quiet again. She opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. She could feel the flex of his mouth, an after-effect of his swallows and the odd sensation of her blood being pulled out of her like she would suck juice from a bite of peach.

Well, peaches were now ruined for her. She doubted she’d ever be able to eat one again without thinking about that groan so close to her ear. Thanks a lot, Bog.

He continued to drink, two swallows turning into several more and she was starting to feel a little drained, blinking but finding herself zoning. Her pained breathing was evening out and her head felt heavier, drooping back. Bog hesitated, his hands growing tense and for a moment she thought he was going to pull away. Tapping into her stubbornness for strength, she reached up and grasped a handful of his shirt in her first.

“Finish what you started.” She ordered, words drifting to the ceiling. “I’m not doing this again anytime soon. Those teeth _hurt_!”

Marianne started drooping back again, pulling his shirt with her and his hand against her spine helped her lay back on the mattress. She couldn’t turn her head when his teeth were still in her neck so she was left staring straight up, fingers slackening. Marianne touched at the fabric of his shirt, trailing absently up to the gap where his skin was exposed at his throat and felt his Adam’s apple bob with another swallow. It was a curious feeling, maybe a little gross knowing he was swallowing her blood with that little motion but she maintained a macabre fascination with it. She wanted to find the place where he was latched onto her but he caught her wrist and laid it against her stomach with gentle fingers.  


His teeth slipped free, the drag of them leaving the puncture wounds making her twitch then open her eyes to watch him as he straightened up on the bed, hands immediately setting to work with the cotton balls, pressing one over each bite and holding them firmly in place while waiting for the bleeding to stop. She blinked up at him, dazed and flustered but hardly feeling blissful like those sappy heroines were described. It was almost disappointing how wrong all of those romance novelists were when it came to vampires biting people. Apparently it was all bullshit! Romanticized, sugary words that concealed the simple fact that bites hurt like hell and no woman would honestly want to go through with such a thing unless she had a screw loose! So they were just trying to sell vampires off as wet dreams after all.

“I’m sorry,” Bog’s words were quiet low and warm. She hoped it wasn’t because of her half-dazed state that he sounded so good right now. “I did tell you it would hurt.”

“Yeah, you did.” She winced when his hand moved and the cotton tried to stick to where the blood was drying.

Bog fisted the cotton and picked up the alcohol pad, ripping the package open and pulling it out. He was careful with it, cleaning away the fuzz but she still felt the burn of the alcohol on her raw flesh. Marianne hissed between clenched teeth, squirming a bit then forcing herself to lay still. She was supposed to be stronger than this! Instead, she was acting pretty pathetic with her cringing and blushing at every little thing.

Well, maybe the blushing at his moaning was justified. It had been rather surprising…and a little hot.

Whoops, she didn’t think that just now.

Watching him work with the band-aid wrapper, he eventually plastered the decently-sized bandage over the bite with careful fingers. Once he finished, he looked down at her concerned and she smiled, though she probably looked drunk when she did. He was such a worry-wart.

“Feeling less grumpy?” she asked, nudging his arm with a weak fist.

“Yeah,” he picked up her wrist and checked her pulse, glancing down at his old man watch still fastened around his own wrist. Apparently her pulse wasn’t anything major because he eventually laid her arm back down.

“Well, aren’t we being all clinical right now.” She mused. “I thought vampires bite ‘em and leave ‘em.”

“Not all vampires have valuable employees.” He smiled wryly back at her. “You’ll be fine in about half an hour. Don’t move or I’ll sit on you.”

“Yes, sir.” Marianne didn’t feel up to arguing yet. She didn’t want his bony butt on her either so she would obey long enough to get through her dizziness. Maybe in a few minutes she’ll start working him for letting her get up and go raid his TV downstairs for the new episode of Face/Off that was coming on tonight. She never missed an episode of that show and he owed her at least an hour of crystal-clear HD time after what she went through. 

“Marianne,” he hesitantly laid his hand over her forehead. She blinked up at him, his thumb barely visible in her line of sight. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, boss…well, maybe not _anytime_ , but…nah, you know what I mean.” She didn’t plan on letting him bite her again anytime soon and he knew better than to ask too early unless he wanted her to make good on her promise to stake him with a blending brush. Biting the make-up artist would have to wait. Marianne needed recover time. First of all she needed to get over the pain in her neck. That was the easy part. That moan however, that was going to take _a lot_ longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment or a kudo to let me know if it was okay!


	4. Modesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a week or two prior to "The First Bite" fic.  
> We see where Marianne lives and how she feels about company, apparently.

They had been walking for a while and were he the actual age the make-up depicted him to be, he would have died about a mile away from his doorstep. He never realized how long the walk was for Marianne from her place to his every morning until that evening. No wonder she was in such good shape. Not that he looked or anything. It was just a simple observation that Marianne took care of her figure rather well for a woman not interested in attracting anyone. She did it for herself and he felt that was commendable.  


She had changed since the first day he found her in front of the gates of Fairview Studios. What he saw sitting on the concrete was a young woman wearing a pink cotton dress and tan ankle high boots. For a make-up artist her own make up application was minimal, nicely applied and natural with traces of matching pink on her eyelids and lips but no real proof of her skill with a brush. She looked so innocent at first glance until she opened her mouth. That was when the cat was out of the bag and he discovered she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Ever since she had staggered off to her home the morning after her night of drinking, borrowing a pair of his sunglasses and a hat to shelter her tender head from the morning sunlight, Marianne’s clothing and make up style had changed. She was nearly unrecognizable when she arrived at his home the next day with her make-up case in tow to do a demonstration for him. She was dressed in an over-sized black tunic with plum leggings peering between the hem of her shirt and knee-high black boots. Gone were the pink shades in favor of lipstick that reminded him of a blackberry juice stain, her eyelids violet, so dark in color it made her brown eyes practically glow. Or it could have been the lingering fury still burning inside of her from Roland’s betrayal.

Tonight was a little more forgiving on the dark shades. She didn’t wear any black with the exception of her sneakers, just dark blue jeans and a rose-colored sleeveless shirt that had an unfortunate amount of flesh-colored smudges across the hemline. He told her over and over not to wipe her hands on herself when she was working but Marianne never listened to him when it came to her own habits. She did as she pleased and he was still trying to get used to her stubbornness.

“Why are we going to your apartment?” he asked, clicking the tip of his cane upon the sidewalk as he took another step. Marianne peered over her shoulder at him, fishing for her keys in her pocket.

“I have to change before we meet Dawn.” Marianne said, pulling the keys free with a little victory laugh.

“Why does that require me going with you inside? I could have met you at the bar.”

“You haven’t seen it yet.” She smiled, “I’ve been to your place every morning for weeks now and it’s my turn to show off where I live.”

Bog admitted he was curious about Marianne’s home. She spoke of her apartment a few times while comparing what she had to what he had more of and from such conversations he understood the basic concept of her home. It was a studio apartment that was on the top story of one of the historical buildings in town. There was one radiator to heat the place in the winter and two window units for air conditioning in the summer, one of which she all too casually stated would probably catch on fire soon. She had a “rinky-dink” kitchen and a bathroom that was trapped in the 80’s until she could afford to upgrade it. It sounded like she hated the place but at the same time she claimed to love it with the biggest smile on her face. He wasn’t sure which emotion to believe.

“How’s the cane working for your image?” she asked conversationally, flicking a finger at it.

“It’s fine.” He looked down at it. “I don’t know why you recommended this one though.”

Bog had been looking into getting a cane to keep up with his charade a little better. He was supposed to be approaching his seventies, if not already there by now. With his scrawny build and hunched posture, he felt it would have suited his façade to have a cane as well. Maybe not all the time, but enough to be convincing. He had been perusing a magazine in his study when Marianne came in and looked over his shoulder for the next several pages. The moment she saw one she liked, she nagged him the rest of her stay until he finally agreed to buy it without really looking into the finer details of the cane’s design until he unwrapped it that afternoon.

“It’s a replica of John Hammond’s!” Marianne grinned. “You know, from Jurassic Park!”

“I’m aware of what _film_ it is from, Marianne.” He sighed, thumping along with firmer stabs into the sidewalk to keep the irritation out of his voice and more directed into the pavement. “I wanted to know why you wanted _me_ to have it.”

Marianne hung back a few steps until he was beside her and she leaned an elbow on his shoulder. It was probably the only time he was hunched enough for her to accomplish the feat and she took advantage of it. Her hand batted at his arm where it hung between them. “Because the mosquito suits you.”

He scowled at her and she grinned, darting ahead several steps before he could swing the cane at her. He struck it on the cement again, grumbling as she led him onward. They were starting to enter the town square now. The older buildings that survived over the years since the town’s founding back in the late 1800’s stood proudly over them, illuminated by decorative street lanterns picked out to give the square a more antiquated look to match the buildings even though shop windows bore neon displays and an electronic store. It was a craft store that Marianne eventually stopped in front of, Bog snickering to himself at the revelation of her home’s location.

Of course she would want an apartment above a craft store.

Marianne unlocked the grated door to the right of the shop’s picture window, the more welcoming glass door to the left of the window being for the actual business. She stepped back and drew the door open, waving him in ahead of her and he stepped inside. Once across the threshold he caught the smell of varnish and resin used to preserve the woodwork in the paneling of the hallway and the staircase leading up. He was almost overpowered by it because of his senses, forcing him to stop the charade of breathing to spare himself the smells. Marianne shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it before she was slipping past him and jogging up the stairs.

“You don’t have to worry about the old man charade. No one can see you in here.” She tossed back over her shoulder, waving a hand around to show that there were no windows. Bog hitched the cane up into his hand, following her up the stairs with big steps that skipped two at a time. He could have done three by how steep these steps were but that would have put him right at her back too quickly and he didn’t want to startle her in close quarters. She might hit him.

They climbed to a narrow landing where the direction of the stairs twisted left, Marianne stomping up the last few and stopping in front of a wooden door that looked as old as the building itself. It was just as coated in varnish as the rest of the wooden paneling, the light nearly reflecting off of the surface like a mirror. She unlocked it and pushed her shoulder into it. The gesture was a practiced one, meaning she had to do this often and Bog looked up at the door again, seeing the top of it sticking slightly against the corner of the doorjamb until she shoved again with a bit more force and it sprung open at last. As soon as she was inside and Bog trailed in after her, he paused beside it. He tested the top of the door with an experimental brush of his fingers then eyed the hinges, swinging the door experimentally a few times and listening to the little squeaks the old hinges made.

“You know this could be fixed, right?” he asked, pushing it shut.

“Yes, but I can’t afford it yet.” She sighed, “The guy I called gave me a quote and I need that money for my car fund. I can deal with a stubborn door.”

He thought about offering to do it himself but felt she would have refused out of her own stubbornness. He decided to let it drop, shrugged his shoulders and straightening out of the old man hunch now that they were safely behind closed doors. He leaned the cane against the door frame, fingers rubbing at the base of his neck that seemed to be seizing up from the long-term hunch he had to accomplish on the walk. Marianne strayed into the center of the room and held her arms out to present it to him.

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

It was humble…but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Marianne’s studio apartment was one large box that must have been the entire top floor of the little craft store underneath. She had a high ceiling with modern light fixtures mounted on tracks evenly spaced apart to give the room plenty of light. There were windows to the front and the back of the building, the two air conditioning units occupying the outermost windows on the back wall, black out curtains drawn up on their rolls with chain pulleys hanging along the frames to lift and lower them. The walls were exposed brick of the original building, which was horrible for insulation but aesthetically pleasing to look at. Her kitchen was small but efficient; lining a section of the wall to the left, sharing the same space as the entrance door. To the right was the only bit of drywall in the apartment, forming a small rectangle with an inexpensive door where the bathroom was more than likely located. Her bed was bigger than he expected such a willowy girl to have, large and practically dominating the back wall beneath the windows while her living room space occupied the front.

“Why does someone so little need a bed that big?” he asked, pointing at it.

Marianne glanced over at it and pressed her lips together.

“I wasn’t always the only one in it.” She muttered and he immediately regretted bringing it up. “I kept it because I’ll probably never have a bed that big again and I like the idea of having room to roll around and sleep at any angle I want without falling off the sucker.” She concealed the sting of the memory with a grin and proceeded with a demonstration, running at the bed and jumping onto it. The down comforter that had been laid across it hissed out a puff of air at her impact. Marianne stretched out her arms and legs and rolled left to right then curled in a ball and made a little somersault to the end of the bed, sitting up with her feet planting firmly on the floor while throwing her hands in the air. “See? Can’t do that on a regular old queen and I’ll be dead before I sleep on a twin ever again.”

“Yes, I see your point.” He smiled indulgingly, going to the living room portion of the apartment to continue his penny tour on his own.

She had a simple love seat with thread-bare cushions that looked inviting in spite of their wear; the pinstripe material gave it a classic look that once again didn’t match another piece of furniture in the structure. Across from it was a television that had seen better days. Even he was guilty in indulging in a flat screen back home but here she was with a heavy-looking CRT taking up space on what was supposed to be a coffee table turned entertainment center.

He smiled at the VHS and DVD player box nestled at its side and the stacks of films filling underneath the table that marked her current film library. Behind the television the wall was covered in film posters that had been taped together like a collage, corners overlapping and touching so that every picture and title was exposed but the useless rectangular edges were covered to make room for more posters. A variety of titles and listed actor names flanked the wall and he heard Marianne approaching until she stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest and looking on with him at the display.

“Those are posters from every film and TV show I ever worked on.” She smiled thoughtfully up at them. “Three years of working at Fairview. All of my projects kind of blended together, I never really noticed how many I did until I started mounting the posters they gave me before every premier. Eventually I made this up on my wall and I didn’t have the heart to take it down after they fired me.”

“You should leave it.” She glanced up at him and he gave her a little smile. “You worked hard on all of those projects. They may have fired you but that doesn’t mean all of that work is suddenly rendered null and void. Be proud of your accomplishments, Marianne. Let them be displayed.” When he looked at her again, her expression was rather puzzled, her eyes flicking over his face and eyebrows furrowing in thought. He wondered if he had said something amiss, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…you can be pretty sweet sometimes, you know that?” Marianne grinned, resting her hands upon her hips. He grimaced at the compliment and she threw her head back with a laugh. “ _There’s_ the mosquito I know.”

“Just how many nicknames are you going to throw at me?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

“As many as I can come up with, Bat Man!” she chuckled, “Anyway, I need to get a move on and get dressed or Dawn will give me hell for not just being late but for showing up covered in make-up.”

Bog shrugged his shoulders, expecting her to tell him to go hide in the bathroom or turn his back but when she walked away without a word, he was left puzzled. Turning to ask what she wanted him to do, Bog’s mouth fell open so fast he could have sworn a cartoonist could have used it as a reference. Marianne had walked away, yes, but she was also removing her shirt as casually as if she were alone, pulling it over her head with a sigh and tossing it onto her bed as she walked around to a small chest of drawers pushed up beside the bathroom door, digging through its contents.

“M-Marianne!” Whatever blood he had left in his system form his last feeding immediately went to his cheeks, flaring the capillaries with warmth caused by his embarrassment at seeing her walking around shirtless with not a care in the world.

“What?” she looked up from the drawer, sounding completely oblivious to the reason behind his shock.

“Don’t get undressed in front of me!” he scolded, averting his eyes. “Have some modesty for God’s sake!”

“Uh, ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad, Bog?” she scoffed, “I know they have advertisements all over the place these days, even on TV. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He still didn’t look and she heaved a sigh, a touch of exasperation in her tone. “I’m just as covered as I would be if I were in a bathing suit.”

“A bathing suit should cover more than they do in this day and age!” he snapped over his shoulder, forcing his back to her voice.

“Ha! You’re such a prude.” Marianne laughed now; he could hear her rifling through the drawers again then giving up and slamming it shut. He flinched at the sound of one of her shoes being discarded to the floorboards, grimacing at the floor. Bog knew she made a point. Women wore barely anything when they went swimming these days but underwear was different! As covered as she thought she was, she seemed to forget that he was supposed to be her boss, an old man, and just a man in general! Call him old-fashioned but at least he understood modesty to a better degree than this woman apparently did.

The other shoe dropped and he shuddered at the sound of a zipper. No question where that came from and he shook his head, putting a hand to his face in his exasperation.

“Hey! No touching my face!” she snapped.

Bog automatically moved his hand away, holding it aloft over his head. “It’s not your face, it’s my face!”

“I made that work of art and while it is glued to your mug—like it or not—as long as you’re wearing that make-up we have joint custody of your face so no touching!” she scolded.

He growled low in his throat, feeling humiliated by her treating him like a child while behaving like one herself. Bog went to look out the windows to distract himself from the irritating woman, trying to look into the street below but the darkness outside meeting with the glare of her interior lights left the whole room mirrored across the glass, blinding him from the scenery beyond. Bog saw his dark shape in the glass along with the layout of the apartment behind him and then there she was. Marianne boldly walking around in her underwear across the back of the room to a rack of clothing nestled between the wall and the main door to the apartment. She flicked through the dresses hanging there and Bog could see the nude brassiere and midnight underwear reflected in the glass. He needed to look away, but it had been so long since…

_No!_ Bog shut his eyes. _I may look like an old man but I’m not a dirty one!_

He switched to the love seat, sitting down and slouching into the worn cushions, keeping his eyes shut and head tilted back over the edge of the little sofa. The hangers scraped along the metal pole, fabric rustled, and he drummed his fingers over his arm where they were stubbornly crossed over him, waiting for her to finish changing. She might have been okay with parading around in her under things but he was nearly mortified. Be that as it may, Bog was going to stand his ground…well maybe sit instead…and keep his eyes firmly shut. He wasn’t some fledgling with no control over impulses and urges. He was older than the very building they were sitting in by leaps and bounds. He could avoid temptation.

_Well we know how well that worked out the last time, don’t we?_

Grinding his teeth at the inner voice that taunted him, he opened his eyes, glancing back at Marianne and she was blessedly dressed at last. She had chosen a dress covered in a plaid pattern consisting of purples, blues, and dark pinks. It was flattering when she buttoned up the front, twisting around in a flare of skirt and going to a milk crate that contained her shoe options. She crouched down and started digging but his eyes trailed to her neck, the marks of his bite still evident in her skin. The bruising had healed up nicely but there were still the scabs over the healing puncture wounds. Those always took the longest to heal.

He should have ignored her offer and just nursed another bag, nutritional value be damned! Still, he did it. He bit her and now he lived with the consequences. For weeks he watched her wear scarves and bandages over her neck while it healed. Bog saw the bruising spanning through most of the right side of her neck, further than any band-aid could conceal. Black and blue mottled skin discolored where blood had escaped the broken artery, tainting her elegant neck. It was an ugly mark on an otherwise beautiful creature. 

Oh, Marianne complained about it at first. She made sure to let him have it for the pain she went through but after seeing the guilt he felt over indulging as much as he did, she never brought it up again. For the most part he saw her ignoring the bite wounds but then her fingers would tenderly prod about her neck, trying to scratch the itch of the healing skin or rotating her head on her shoulders where the muscle was still sore. They resumed their banter, their arguments and a few impersonal conversations that cleared the air of any awkward silence but there was always that sense of tension in the air. It hung over them like a fog that wouldn’t lift until they faced a simple truth. They both knew that it would happen again.

It seemed logical enough. Marianne knew his secret, she was young and hearty, and she tasted like sin—but she didn’t need to know that! She said that she would do it anytime, give or take a few weeks in between, and he would take advantage of that. A constant donor was easier than finding one by chance in town. He was taking the easy way out with Marianne’s generosity and he would make sure that she would be compensated for his laziness.

“Are you ready yet?” he called over, letting his head fall back again, staring at the lights on the ceiling. He could feel the blood regulate at last, his cheeks no longer affected by the blush of embarrassment, though he still dwelled on how scandalized he had felt in her stripping in front of him. He was never following her home again, that was for sure. It was like she didn’t even consider that he was a man at all.

How was he supposed to feel about that?

“I just need to empty my pockets into that purse because this damn thing doesn’t have any.” Marianne replied, Bog rolling his head to the side and frowning at her while she shook her jeans upside down over her bed, sweeping the contents that fell out into a pile. Holding a small denim purse open, she swiped them into the opening and zipped it shut, swinging the strap over her head and shoulder so that it settled on her hip and faced him at last. “Does this look girly enough?”

“If that is what you are aiming for, then yes, I suppose so.” He hauled himself off of the love seat. “Why are you worried about that?”

“Dawn has Barbie DNA. She always looks perfect no matter what she does and she always whines when I don’t put in the same amount of effort in my own looks. I just now reached a compromise with her than I can keep my make-up the way I like it if I at least make an effort to dress nice whenever we meet up.”

From their brief conversations about Marianne’s little sister, Bog discovered that while Marianne was skilled in the make-up effects world, Dawn was, in her words, a “color guru.” Dawn Springdale was an interior designer by profession and she was just barely twenty years old, her designs were considered top of the line to the point of her being consulted by celebrities for their home décor. Marianne told him that Dawn wanted to tackle her apartment with a fierce determination since she got the place and she caught her looking at paint swatches against her brick walls one afternoon that immediately resulted in her taking away her key to the place. She sounded like someone he didn’t want anywhere near his house. He was perfectly content with his neutrals, thank you very much.

“Hmm,” he headed for the door, picking up the replica cane. “And you wanted her to meet me because…”

“I told her I was working for a grouchy old man now. You know, since I was fired, I needed to come up with something so that my Dad didn’t hear I was jobless. This is sort of like volunteer work for the hospice or something. I can’t remember the specifics of whatever spilled out of my mouth that day.” Marianne explained, joining him beside the door. “She thought it was sweet and wanted to meet you. Aaaaand…I sort of told her you had an old Victorian up on Briar Street...and she knew exactly which one I was talking about.”

His face fell even more if possible, fingers clenching the cane a little tighter as dread poured over him, sending a chill down his spine. “Tell me you didn’t…”

She bit her lower lip, shrugging up her shoulders with a wicked smile that couldn’t pass as guilty even if she tried. “I kinda did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marianne is at the point in her life where she gives no fucks about what is considered appropriate anymore.  
> (Don't worry, she'll start to care about it again after a certain epiphany happens.)


	5. The Second Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of drug use in this chapter. I don't think it would trigger anything but I'm saying it now.

The house in top of the hill was quiet. All through the night to the early morning it had been as still as death, even when the rosy tinge of morning’s light was beginning to bleed in the eastern sky, all was calm. It was an utterly deceptive picture when you took in the house at face value and didn’t consider the backyard where frantic hands were fumbling with the lock on the back door. Long fingers clawed down the wood, a desperate groan breaking the silence but still too quiet for any neighbors to catch. The keys rattled, the lock clicked and the door caved inward, bouncing off of the wall before his hands could grab it.

Hunching into the frame, he put a hand to his face and tried to collect his frazzled senses but even the silence of his own home was pressing down on him like a giant’s thumb trying to squish his meager frame into the floorboards. Shoving away from the framework, he slipped inside and shut the door after him, not bothering to lock it because there was something much more important he needed to worry about.

It might have been a bit melodramatic but Bog wasn’t concerned about that at the moment. He attacked his fridge in a frantic need to get to its contents, fingers clawing the old vinyl surface and nearly wrenching the handle off the door in his urgency to get inside. A cold white light spilled out of the opened fridge and he momentarily lapsed into a meager smile at the realization that Marianne had taken the time to replace the previously extinguished light bulb.

The agonizing churn in his belly knocked the smile away with urgent need for relief and he snarled, ducking down to get to what he needed. His hands knocked aside the useless Coke bottles to an angry chorus of clinking glass and he struck the sandwich meat out of his way, barely noticing it flying out of the fridge and sliding across the linoleum for he found his prize. Bog nearly dove for the blood, snatching up a bag from his stash. The flexing plastic in his hands only reassured him for a millisecond before he was ripping it open with his teeth, forgoing the capped tube connection points for the sake of getting right to the contents. 

The blood went down cold and thick, making him gag and choke in his rush to get it down but the burning didn’t go away, no matter how chilled the contents had been when they slid down his throat. He squeezed the bag down to the last red smear before he threw it to the floor, grabbing another one that vanished just the same. Bog sucked it dry; the plastic crinkling and cracking as even the air was drawn out in his hunger, all swallowed down and discarded to join the previous bag all the same.

More bags were snatched out of the fridge, each one suffering the same fate in his desperation to chase away the pain to the point where Bog had completely lost count of how many he consumed. His kitchen floor crackled when he sank down upon it, his back hitting the cabinet door beside the fridge as he let his legs slump straight in front of him. He couldn’t breathe, he didn’t need to but the absence of the once involuntary process only made it feel all the more stifling. His nails clawed at his throat, trailing down to the neckline of his shirt where he could still feel some of the blood coagulating in his esophagus. Bog tried to clear his throat but it only gurgled thick and bubbly, a trace surfacing at the corner of his mouth and he licked it away with a grimace.

He should have gone to her.

Should have gone to Marianne and just asked rather than dance around the subject as he had been doing since the last trace of the puncture marks had faded from her neck. A humorless laugh gurgled in his throat and caught before it could be huffed through his lips, head falling back with a thud into the cabinetry. His legs dragged through the empty bags and he braced his feet on the floor, knees drawn in tight and elbows propping upon them. Marianne was going to threaten him with garlic, holy water, or some other useless pop culture defense against media vampires if she found out he hadn’t asked her first and this was the result.

Aura had told him that the girl was clean. She was dancing with her friends on the floor, lights dancing around her while she writhed and twisted to the music that nearly left him deaf from its volume. Voluptuous, redheaded, she reminded him nothing of Marianne, which was good because he was hoping to avoid targeting anyone that would make him think he was forming a preference because of her. He took care in avoiding blondes as well, especially innocent-looking ones that remotely conjured up any resemblance to Dawn. Bog liked the younger Springdale sibling, a bit too affectionate and bright for his taste but he found it hard to dislike her so her type was out of his feeding range permanently. The redhead was safe. At least that’s what he thought. He had been so eager to get to fresh blood after relying on bags since he took Marianne’s blood; he completely neglected to check her sobriety. If he had, alcohol would have been the last of his worries because she had taken something worse. _Much worse._

It was a small mercy he had a quick digestive system, his stomach was full but the contents were already moving on to his small intestine, his transfigured organs manipulating the blood and absorbing it into his bloodstream. When he realized his mistake, he had rushed home from Aura’s in hopes of flushing out the bad blood with the not much better bagged blood. Preserved, packaged blood held enough nutritional value to keep him alive but just barely, that was why a human donor was needed to make it more substantial. Guzzling down mass quantities of the bags would hopefully overpower the soiled blood and, in a sense, “water it down” so that the drug inside of him wouldn’t be as effective.  
Bog dug his fingers deep into his hair, nails biting into his scalp as he hunched inward, feeling the burn of the tainted blood slipping into his formerly stagnant arteries. Blood wasn’t supposed to burn. It was supposed to be warm. It was to be a wonderful feeling that could only be experienced when one fed, which was why his kind craved it so ardently. They wanted that sensation of living again, the feel of life returning to flesh, blood, and bone, however brief it lasted in the end. A few days, a week, but it was always the same.

Temporary.

Bog’s heart twitched out of its dormancy at the promise of incoming blood. It was incapable of creating a true rhythm but it struggled through a series of hiccup-like beats. However, the push of the new blood through his system held no relief for him, not this time. The drug scalded him from the inside out and he groaned through clenched teeth, his body convulsing in rejection of the foreign substance. He wished he could vomit it out like humans automatically reacted when faced with spoiled food and his body unconsciously sought the same relief, forcing him to turn to the side. A hand braced upon the floor, palm pressing into empty bags but he could only manage a dry heave, the blood already too far absorbed to backtrack out of him now.

When he managed to control the convulsions enough to keep himself some-what steady, he pushed himself up enough to sit back against the cabinet again. His fingers touched at his forehead, skin still cold but there was a clammy sweat that had beaded to the surface through the exertion his body endured. Sweat was good, it was another way he could get rid of the toxin but he couldn’t produce enough to do much good. All he could do at this point was wait for it to run its course. He suffered the side-effects of drinking the blood of a drugged human before. The nineteen sixties and seventies had been particularly rough before he learned the signs. Until he fucked up tonight, that is. He was paying attention to type rather than the contents and this was the price he had to pay. By the time recreational drugs were absorbed into the bloodstream, humans had time to digest it, absorb it, etc. Vampires that found these humans were unwittingly receiving the leftovers of the drug still in their veins and by then it wasn’t everything drugs were cracked out to be to their human consumers. It was poison.

His breath rattled down into his lungs when he tried to breathe. His own muscles were starting to clench up, unwilling to obey when his body burned. Huffing for the familiar comfort of breathing, Bog’s gaze trailed to the kitchen stove where the green numbers of the digital clock reminded him of just how late he had been out. He bit back a curse, reaching up and bracing his hand on the counter to haul himself up onto his feet. Marianne always came between six and seven every morning to apply his old age make-up. He was supposed to go to the hospital today and had completely botched his night with seducing that redhead.

 _Fine idea_ that _had been!_

Even though Marianne knew what he was and what he kept in his refrigerator, he knew she would be asking questions if she saw the amount of blood bags littering his kitchen floor. Even in his frazzled state with his limbs barely bending to his will, he started to collect the bags from the floor. Gathering them up in handfuls, he clutched them to his chest with one arm while scavenging up the others, tucking them into himself and carrying them to the trash. He threw the lid cover aside and hauled the bag out, tying it into a knot. The back door wavered when he approached it, his steps staggered and making him lose his course, sending him stumbling into the wall near the door but missing his intended target completely.

The kitchen was swimming when he pushed himself off the hard surface, hand grabbing for the doorknob and missing the first few tries. For a moment he nearly gave up and thought about just breaking the door down to get to the larger trashcan outside but then he would be left to explain why his back door was broken into a thousand pieces to a skeptical Marianne and that didn’t sound much better. He finally opened the door and dropped the bag into the can, slamming it shut after himself and leaning back into the wood with a long, hard sigh that was punctuated by a hiss between his teeth when his limbs burned with a new wave of fire.

Striking his fist into the door, he felt it pulse within him, his heart spluttering and misfiring like an old car engine when the drug circulated through again. His body was no better off than if someone had forced him to ingest acid, the toxin scalding through his insides and threatening to eat away into his very bones if it didn’t wear off soon. It took a moment but he eventually shuffled away from the kitchen, making his way through the narrow passage to get to the stairs. Bog needed to get to his room. He had to change and get rid of the evidence of his blood binge before she showed up and he needed to do it fast. Her arrival times were all over the place after all.

If Marianne caught him wearing the same thing she left him in the previous evening, she would have plenty to say about it. She might not have been as clothing-conscious as Dawn but Marianne wasn’t an idiot. She knew his limited wardrobe and she wouldn’t hesitate to dig into him with everything in her verbal arsenal if she caught him looking just as she left him, especially after he gave her a hard time about wearing the same stained tank top two days in a row last week. Marianne was the type to hold a grudge. She wouldn’t let him get away with anything remotely similar to things he had teased her about himself.

Grasping the banister, he looked up at the stairs stretching out before him and growled between clamped teeth. Now he understood why most people don’t go for staircases in their homes after the age of fifty. He surpassed that age by a few centuries but now it all made sense. The task of climbing his own stairs was a daunting one and he could think of twenty six degrading things to call himself when he slowly forced one foot in front of the other. He regretted his choice in donor that night but the bagged blood was entering his system, cold and it crawled like molasses but he still burned from the sharp contrast in blood types, one trying to overpower the other. Even reaching the top of the stairs didn’t feel any better because he still had to make it down the hall to his room.

Bog might not have been able to make it through a shower but he was sure he could change his clothes and brush his teeth before risking a potential collapse anytime soon. He trudged into his bedroom and headed for the closet, ignoring the light and confronting the selection in the comfort of darkness. The clothing blurred before his eyes and he blinked repeatedly at the vague shapes. He walked his fingers along the row of hangers, dragging down a pair of brown trousers and a pale yellow shirt as his choice for the old man garments of the day. He tossed them on his bed and started to undress but he couldn’t even make out the buttons of his own shirt, going by touch alone to pop them free before he was wadding it up and throwing it into his closet floor.

By the time he was changed and in his bathroom he had to sit on the lid of the toilet to brush his teeth, leaning his elbow into the vanity countertop while lazily dragging the bristles over them. Marianne hated the sight of blood on his teeth whenever he drank from the bags; it was an unsightly side effect that made her gag on more than one occasion. His insides were beginning to feel less scorched and more charred than anything by the time he hauled himself back onto his feet and spat into the sink, rinsing the red-tinged foam down the drain. Bog also washed his face to clear away the previous sweat, erasing further evidence of his discomfort that she couldn’t hold against him.

Three solid knocks on the front door echoed through the foyer and Bog’s ears perked a bit at the sound.

_She’s here._

Still feeling utterly drained by the effects of the drugged blood, Bog still made it downstairs in the blink of an eye. He never let her wait for long after all. Any stalling would raise suspicion. It took him a moment to check his composure when he grabbed the handle, sighing at the front door before he twisted the knob and stepped back, pulling it open in front of himself so no one could see if stray eyes tried to peer inside. Neighbors were nosy after all, especially when it concerned him and his young employee.  
Marianne strode through the entryway, dragging her famous rolling suitcase in her wake and bringing it to rest at the foot of the stairs while Bog shut the door after her, palm flat on the paneling to brace himself upright.

“Good morning, Marianne.” He greeted routinely, hiding his fatigue with his typically cool composure.

“Morning, boss.” She tossed over her shoulder, shoving the extended handle down to grasp the smaller one attached to the top of her case. “Where are we going today?”

“I have to go in for an hour or two so you don’t have to worry about being extremely detailed today.” He instructed, easing himself away from the door and joining her at the stairs. At first he used to try and carry the case for her but after they got into a long and arduous argument over how she could carry it herself, he stopped trying. He probably wouldn’t have been able to carry it today anyway so maybe it was a good thing that she insisted on her own independence. Marianne was already stomping up the stairs with the case hanging heavy alongside her legs, Bog laying a steadying hand on the railing while he followed, keeping a fair distance between them.

“Sounds good,” she shrugged her shoulder that wasn’t weighted down by the case up a little. “It’s not more legal stuff, is it?”

“Nothing more than usual. It’s just paperwork today.” He hesitated near the top, blinking away the lingering dizziness trying to muddle him up and squeezing the railing a little tighter to keep himself from losing his balance.

Marianne pulled the handle out again and wheeled on ahead of him while he savored a few more precious seconds to clear his head before he trailed along after her. While she walked he took in the simple jeans and a rose red tunic with a wide, open neckline that exposed the strap of a green tank top underneath. It left her neck exposed with only a touch of her short hair brushing the back of it. The sight of her lightly tanned skin, unblemished and exposed triggered him and his blood roiled. Bog’s fangs descended with renewed vigor at the promise of a good meal given by the sight of her neck, a proper dose that would soothe the fire with a supply of fresh, clean blood.

 _No,_ he covered his mouth, letting her enter his room without him. _No necks, I_ hate _necks!_

Leaning back into the wall, he willed the fangs away, slowly drawing them back into their correct length. He ran his tongue over them to ensure their neutral position then hurried after Marianne again, slipping up behind her to cover up the distance before she could notice when she passed through his bathroom and into the make-up room. She set to work on opening up the case and removing her preferred brushes and adhesives. He had plenty stocked in the room but Marianne wanted to use up all of her make-up from her previous job before she would start digging into his own stash. He took up a seat in his chair, leaning back into the firm cushion.

_So far so good._

Bog could conceal the pain, the dizziness and utter weakened state he was in as long as he was sitting down and Marianne could pass it off as him merely waiting for her to get started. He knew the routine. It wouldn’t be hard to keep up appearances as long as the effects ran their course. Still, through the burning he also felt the stomach-churning dread of what would happen if she found out. Suffering the wrath of Marianne Springdale was not how he wanted to spend his morning after thoroughly mucking up his night with a poor decision and no sleep. He just needed to keep his mind off of his own misery and ignore the tempting blood source not three feet from him. He could do it. She didn’t need to know!

Then he smelled it.

_Oh no…_

“Marianne,” he turned his head, spotting her collecting the prosthetics from their shelf. “Are you wearing perfume today?”

“Yeaaah, Dawn hauled me out to late night karaoke last night, hence why I look like hell today.” She held out her arms to present herself. She did look a little more made up than her typical morning appearance, that was for sure, but she didn’t look like she had been up all night. Normally she was too tired in the morning to worry about make-up until she finished with him but her face was flawless with wine-colored shadow and lips that matched her shirt. She was keeping to her preferred darker tones but it was still nicer than her hastily thrown together clothing choices of her typical mornings. “I passed out on Sunny’s couch afterward. He gave me a ride to my place to get my kit and then straight here. Your reputation still holds, by the way, he was practically shaking when he saw your house.”

He smiled wryly up at her but his senses were frazzled thanks to her perfume combining with her natural scent. Perfumes always smelled different on each individual and this one had found its perfect wearer in Marianne. Otherwise how else would it have smelled so damn intoxicating to him? It must have been the drug; it had to be impeding his judgment. If that was the case, it wasn’t as overpowered by the other blood as he thought it had been and he would have to go to plan B. Pluck up the courage and just ask her.

“Would you mind if I ask you a favor?”

“What is it?” she leaned her elbow on the back of his chair, peering down into his face.

“Would you let me feed from you today?” he asked, fingers already itching to get to the arm so near to his head but he held them firm on the armrests. Her eyes widened a bit before they settled and she bit her lower lip thoughtfully. He watched her fingers touch at her neck, tracing the spot where his bite had once broken her skin even though there was no trace of it now. It had plenty of time to heal but he knew a pain like that didn’t just go away as soon as the visual marks were gone. “You said once that all I had to do was ask…so…I’m asking.”

“Yeah—I did say that.” she lowered her hand, lips quirking in a bit of a smile though she still seemed to be uncomfortable. “Right now?”

“Preferably, yes.” He abruptly sat up in the chair, eyes locked on her and she stepped back from him, hands up as if to fend him off. Bog froze the moment he saw her move, the sight of her retreating from him almost aching more than the drug’s burn. Their partnership was still young. It was fragile even after a couple of months but he had trusted her with everything. His secret, his face, his home, everything was given to Marianne because he trusted her with it. However, he had no idea if she trusted him just as much. Even after her blatant insistence he feed from her the first time, her changing clothes with him standing in the same room, was that really trust or just the ways of Marianne?  
Bitterness fell over him, cold and familiar.

“Nevermind then,” he growled, his heart making another effort to pump the toxin through his system again and his hand clutched to the spot, putting his back to her to hide the pain that twisted his features so she wouldn’t notice. He flinched at the sting but forced himself to climb out of the chair, “Go home. I’ll do it tomorrow.”  
“Hold on—”

“I said go!” he shouted, his voice reverberating off the closely formed walls around them. “If you’re so scared I’ll attack you, you might as well avoid the risk and get out while you can!”

“Bog!”

He gave a dismissive wave of his arm and strode out of the make-up room. Bog wasted no time in making his way downstairs and into the living room where he sat heavily upon his couch, fingers tense over his heart and trying to massage the pain away. If it wasn’t for the drug, he probably wouldn’t have felt such an ache in his chest. Marianne was supposed to be strong, brash! She didn’t cower in fear from anything but one mention of him taking her blood again and she had drawn away from him like he would have taken it with or without her permission anyway. This partnership, even friendship he had forged with his employee felt a lot more brittle than he had given it credit and he gave a breathless, scathing laugh. Shows him what he knows about _friends_.

“My God you are such a drama queen!” Marianne snapped from behind him and he growled through his teeth. A sharp slap across his head startled him and he choked on the rumble. “Stop that! You’re a bat, not a fucking dog! Show a little dignity for your species!”

Twisting his head around he gawked back at her where she stood behind the couch, arms folded and her fearsome scowl glaring down at him from above. He was quiet, his previous bitterness blown away by utter awe at her freely expressed irritation, not to mention annoyance at her comparing him to a bat when bats had nothing to do with what he was. When she saw that he had stopped his defensive growling, Marianne sighed, toning down her glare and unfolding her arms in favor of laying her hands on his shoulders. His body stiffened under her touch but he didn’t brush her shoulders away, especially when she squeezed them, threatening to dig her nails in if he tried to weasel out of physical contact. She knew him so well.

“I said I would let you feed on me when you needed it and I meant it, okay?” She sighed, leaning over and he glanced back at her again, meeting her gaze and seeing the sincerity that lay there. “Give me a break and let me be a little nervous about willingly submitting myself to pain. It’s a perfectly human thing to not want to hurt…unless you’re a masochist, then I guess that makes sense.”

He chuckled at her off-handed remark at the end, letting his head fall back onto the edge of the couch. Bog observed Marianne’s face while she looked down at him, fingers still on his shoulders, fingers giving a simultaneous drum along the seam of his shirt and smiling with a small flash of humanly blunt teeth. He swallowed, the gesture aching all the way down his throat but he lifted his head again and nodded. She patted his shoulders before drawing them away, setting them at either side of his head on the couch while drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a steadying sigh.

“So, how are we doing it this time?”

“I can take it from your arm. It will feel the same in regards to pain but it will spare you the grief of trying to hide your neck like last time.” He pointed out and she stroked her chin thoughtfully.

“The left one, right?”

“Yes,” he held out his hand.

“Hang on,” she climbed over the back of the couch and landed on her knees upon the cushion, the bounce of the springs making him rise a little higher, hands and legs moving to brace himself from being bucked off the couch and she snickered. She sat back on her heels and the springs settled and Bog relaxed himself again, glancing at her new position and raising an inquiring eyebrow. “I didn’t want to risk putting you in a headlock while you’re sucking on my arm if things got a bit too painful. How about this instead?”

Bog could agree with her logic. He didn’t particularly want to be put into a strangle hold by her either. He watched her curiously as she rose up on her knees and braced her arm on the back of the couch, holding her left arm out in front of him nearly level with his chin. He eyed the position with a touch of hesitation, considering she was probably going to want to shift later, depending on how much blood he might be taking. Judging by how utterly raw he was feeling from the inside out, however, any amount of Marianne’s blood would have been better than nothing.

He opened up his right hand, palm up and she laid her wrist into it, his fingers closing around it while his other hand cradled under her upper arm, eyes falling to the veins prominently displayed by her inner elbow. The veins were always easy to find but he needed the oxygenated blood, the kind found in the arteries. Marianne’s fingers curled into a fist, squeezing it tight and he glanced up into her face.

“What? The nurses at the doctor’s office always want me to do that when they want to draw blood.” She shrugged her shoulders upwards.

“They are drawing blood with a needle.” He pointed out, Marianne rolling her eyes at his condescending tone. “I can’t take it from your brachial artery with my teeth. That might make you pass out or even kill you if it was damaged.”

“Ah—then why are you focusing on my inner elbow?” She asked, eyes growing suspicious.

“You have more than one artery in your arm, Marianne.” He chuckled, lowering her arm while still holding her wrist and she released her fist while he used his left index finger to touch her inner elbow. “Here is the brachial artery; it is the major artery in your arm. The one that is safer to use is posterior to it.”

She snickered and he paused, puzzled.

“You said posterior.” She stuck her tongue out from in between her teeth as he sneered.

“How old are you again?”

“You tell me, old man.”

“Just focus,” he shook his head and she grinned but lowered her gaze back down to her own arm.

“Okay, go on with the anatomy lesson, Doctor Fang.”

_Another nickname…_

He pointed it out for her, drawing his finger down from the location of the brachial artery and relocating to the side, closer to her actual elbow and tracing the lay of the smaller artery hidden beneath her skin. Her arm stiffened under the slide of his finger but he passed it off as a reaction to probably being a reaction to a tickle. Marianne shifted on the couch and cleared her throat.

“Okay, I got it.” Her tone was a little rushed and Bog corrected his hold on her arm. Glancing up at her face, he slowly began to raise it closer to his mouth.  
“Bend your arm just a little,” he instructed with a gentle coaxing push on her wrist so that there was just the barest bend at her elbow. Satisfied, he leaned in, opening his mouth. His teeth leapt at the opportunity for fresh blood, slipping free from his gums and grazing over her skin as he carefully gauged his position. Widening his mouth a smidge at the sensation of skin on his tongue, he gave into the predator’s instinct and bit down, hard.

“Mmm-phuck!” Marianne tried to muffle her displeasure between tight lips, creating a nervous hum as she waited for the bite but it turned into a yelped curse, her arm jumping the moment he pierced her skin. Bog held it firm in his hands to hold her still, resisting her flinch while she groaned in painful submission to her limb’s fate. She shut her eyes and ducked her head down, banging her free fist on the back of the couch while he watched from the corner of his eye, easing his bite enough to taste the first swell of blood trying to bleed past his fangs. “It still hurts like a _bitch_!”

He caressed the underside of her upper arm with a brush of his pinky finger, a silent apology that was all he could do with his mouth full. The blood trickled past his teeth and he tasted the first smear on his tongue, tongue chasing after it and lightly running over her skin. More blood followed when he pushed his tongue into her flesh, coaxing a steady flow that he swallowed down in small portions. It was much easier to swallow than the cold blood from the fridge and the warm trickle down his throat brought the first real taste of heaven he had been seeking all night.

Containing the blissful moan he nearly released, his fangs slid free of her skin and he relaxed his lips around the puncture wounds. His hand bearing her wrist urged it to bend further and a fresh rush of blood met his tongue at the gesture, Bog eagerly drinking it down and feeling Marianne’s free hand grab at his shoulder. He ran his free fingers up her arm, her skin smooth under his touch, even when he felt the flesh just under her sleeve, knuckles brushing it aside and savoring the warmth of her body heat previously contained by the lay of the fabric.

A whimper, soft and pleading reached his ear, catching his attention. She shifted, her forehead touching his shoulder and he felt the rush of hot breath exhaled against his shirt sleeve. Her breath was quickening, probably because of the pain but the noise he heard before didn’t sound like one of discomfort. This was different. He closed his eyes and gingerly suckled another partial mouthful, his tongue slowly trailing over the broken skin just as his fingers slid out from under her sleeve. A stuttered moan escaped her lips, quiet but with his hearing it might as well have been a shout for how it seemed to echo in his ears.

He abruptly drew his lips away, pressing his thumb over the puncture wounds, his long finger accommodating the space between the bite marks. Marianne picked her head up just as suddenly once she felt him pull away, Bog nearly flinching when he saw that at this angle, she was right in his face. Their expressions mirrored one another with wide eyes and sky high eyebrows that simultaneously asked: ‘what the hell was that?’

“A-Are you done?” she asked, averting her eyes and he swallowed the last trace of her blood with a little more difficulty than he expected when he saw that her cheeks had gone pink.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, not wanting his voice to catch on the lingering presence of her blood, though it was slipping down smoother than his previous supply. Already he was digesting it down, his own organs seeming to know the saving grace this dose would be and he felt a wry grin spread across his lips when his heart thudded in his chest, fluttering with the teasing taste of life as it pulsed her through his weakened body. Such a small amount compared to the countless blood bags he had tossed back, even the substantial portion from the drugged redhead and yet Marianne’s meager donation was the most satisfying. She overpowered the blood in his veins, chasing away the toxicity with her strange magic that left him astonished by the night and day difference he was feeling after feeding from her. “I’m fine.”  
“G-Good!” she burst out, giving a nervous laugh as he released her arm and she covered the wound with her own hand, peeking at it under her fingers then shielding it again with a grimace.  
“I’m sorry...”

“Oh—no, I’m good—too?” her face clouded with self hatred in her own tangled words and he smiled uneasily back at her.

“Listen, I—I really can put off the paperwork until tomorrow. Why don’t you just take the day off today?” he offered, slowly rising from the couch. His limbs still felt weary when he stood up but he was blessedly spared from the searing burn of the drug at last. Instead it was the familiar, gentle warmth he was supposed to be experiencing and he had Marianne to thank for that. Of course, he still wasn’t going to tell her that he had screwed up last night. She didn’t need to know that he had fed from someone else before he asked her. God spare him the hell that would have descended upon him had that truth been discovered by her.

“I guess I could do that.” Marianne’s face read suspicion when she rose from the couch, still holding onto her arm. “I can go back to bed. Sunny’s couch is great but my neck is killing me.”

“Good, that’s good.” His hands twisted together a moment as they stood apart from one another, the room suddenly feeling awkward while Marianne pointedly looked anywhere but at him. “Well, not that your neck hurts but, it’s good that you can get some sleep.”

They both managed smiles and half-hearted laughs that faded back into the awkward silence. Marianne would be the first to eventually break it, her eyes trailing over to him. He saw her gaze turn from the nervous smile to something more concerned. For a moment he dreaded that she was going to expose him and he seized up, bracing for the impending revolution. Marianne pressed her lips together then puffed a breath of air between her lips, a strand of her bangs dancing on the gust of air then settling back across her forehead. She rose up her arm a bit, fingers still pressing over the bite marks.

“But first…can I get a Band-Aid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not that great but I've been hitting writing snags recently. I hope you guys can still get some enjoyment out of this. =)


	6. The Spring Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne has to suffer the Spring Ball once again but this year she's going to make someone suffer along with her.  
> Apparently it is a headcanon in the fandom for Bog to have glasses sometimes so I couldn't resist going with it in this AU.  
> I love glasses!  
> Roland rears his ugly head again and Marianne gets a shiny!

Marianne shuffled through the narrow envelopes that were the ominous signs of bills pending payment, her brows knitting together and fingers going a little quicker to find another, less depressing piece of mail. The stack seems pretty determined to make her feel like crap for not being financially ready to pay her own bills because aside from an Alloy catalog she stopped ordering from when she was eighteen, there was only one some-what inviting envelope in the bunch.

“Thank you,” she half-sang and plucked it free, smartly tossing the others down onto Bog’s kitchen table.

The longer she worked for Bog, the more time she spent at his house. She learned to just take her mail with her when she left but because her hours were so random in going and coming back from her apartment, she ended up with stacks of mail in her box but continuously forgetting to open them. The solution came with her forming a habit of bringing her mail with her in the morning whenever she made the walk to Bog’s house. Sometimes she read while she walked, other times she waited until she was finished with his routine. Now was one of those days.

Pulling out one of the chairs, Marianne dropped herself into it, leaning back onto two legs while propping her heels on the corner of the table. She had practiced the position often enough to master the two-leg-lean without falling backwards, much to Bog’s annoyance since he had to endure her trial and errors. Marianne smiled to herself, wriggling her finger under the flap of the rather weighty envelope in her hands to pry it open. She remembered spending more than one occasion lying half-spilled out of the floored chair on the linoleum with Bog striding into the room to check on her and rolling his eyes while she offered him a smile and an embarrassed laugh. He always helped her up and righted the chair, accompanying it with a scathing remark on her stubbornness but hey, it paid off! She ripped the rest of the flap open and pulled out an invitation made out of sturdy cream-colored cardstock.

“Oh _hell_ no!” she shook it out of her hand, her abrupt reaction nearly making her topple backwards. She let her feet drop to the floor to save herself, cringing away from the card as it fluttered harmlessly to the floor, slipping under the table on one last cushion of air. Marianne cautiously peered under the table at the invitation as if it would come snapping at her like a rabid squirrel. She hesitantly extended a foot over it and dragged it closer with the toe of her shoe. Leaning enough to read the contents, she confirmed what she had dreaded reading and groaned, slamming her foot on top of it to spare her the sight.

The Spring Ball.

For years Marianne’s family attended the event. It was a fancy party where the rich and the famous could mingle and congratulate themselves for being generous enough to donate some of their money but not all of it. Before _bitterness, thy name is Marianne_ happened, she had loved the Spring Ball. The first time she ever saw it, Marianne was eight and Dawn was four, her father carrying her in the crook of his arm, proudly letting her introduce herself to any patron willing to listen. Marianne was more the silent type who stuck to her mother’s side like a tolerable parasite. Moira was patient enough to hold her hands, dancing little side to side dances with her to music that had no words to it. Those simple dances were all Marianne would grow to know, her two left feet were too clumsy to handle anything more complex after all. They were all she wanted to know because that’s what her mother knew.

As Marianne got older, she enjoyed the Spring Ball because she was convinced she would meet a boy that way. Met a boy she did, several of them in fact! Marianne never saw a date outside of the handful of dances at the Spring Ball until the year she was nearly finished with school. Roland was there that ball and he had been so charming. Of course, looking back, Marianne could now tell that the man was lying out of his ass the entirety of the evening. All of those encouraging words on her career she wanted to make for herself, her ambition to work in the make-up industry were trash. He was trash. Too bad for her she didn’t see it through nearly _four whole years_ of dating the scumbag honey trap.

Last year, when the engagement was broken, Marianne skipped out on the Spring Ball. She knew what the night would be filled with. The cancellation of her marriage to Roland hadn’t been made public thanks to everything happening within the safety of Roland’s trailer at the studio. No one had caught on she had been the one to send him to the hospital, though she did get a morbid satisfaction at the sight of his black eye on one of the tabloids the next morning. She had it framed and proudly displayed on her bathroom wall. At the ball, however, the guests would have asked her how he was, was she excited, did she have the dress, blah, blah, wedding, blah. It would have driven her to the point of a mental break down if she had to endure all of that in the midst of her still raw heartbreak.

Oddly enough, Marianne had spent the night of the Spring Ball working on a new design for Bog’s old age make-up because she didn’t like how vague she was making the wrinkles on his first batch of prosthetics. He had come over for her to make a cast for the prosthetics to better fit his ridiculously gaunt face, a marathon of The Mentalist keeping them company as background noise while she worked. Marianne found it easy not to think about the ball happening miles away from her apartment, her father probably fuming and Dawn completely in her element among the crowd. No, she was perfectly content smothering Bog with alginate and waiting for it to dry, staring at his covered head and fascinated by the fact he didn’t need holes to breathe.

So…she was life casting a dead man. Did that mean she was making a death mask?

Sweet.

Well, she highly doubted her dad would let her get away with any projects this year. He had given her grief over the last Spring Ball and she had a feeling that if she ignored this invitation, the hazing would begin soon. Marianne gave the card a good grind with her shoe before she finally sagged in her chair and with some manipulation, got it back in her hands, wriggling upright and frowning at the cardstock. It was the same as it was every year. Cream background, black and gold boxes, gold filigree, and then glossy black words printed in cursive that would have given anyone a massive hand cramp if they were actually handwritten as depicted. Resisting wadding it up, she tapped it upon her thigh, glancing up at the rest of her mail still lying in a messy pile in front of her.

“Mail, why have you forsaken me?” she groaned. If anything in this pile had been redeeming at all, it was the clothing catalog.

“You realize you’re talking to yourself, right?” Bog’s voice carried down the hallway, Marianne shooting a glare at the doorway but the full force of it didn’t reach past the first few feet.

He was probably still in the study where he usually went after they finished his make-up. If she remembered correctly, he had to go to the hospital this afternoon but the reason sort of went in one ear then melted into a case of ‘I don’t care just fucking hold still!’ Her fault for being distracted but his business was his own when it came to how the hospital was run. She only had to make sure he could keep up appearances. Rising out of her chair, she took the invitation with her and down the hallway. If he was going to tease her from the other room, she was going to make sure he got the full brunt of her glare in return.

Thumping down the hall, Marianne located the doorway to the study, hooking her fingers on the frame and swinging herself through the opening, leaning into the other side of the doorjamb. Lo and behold, there he was, right where she expected him to be. Bog was sitting at his desk, the local paper open and held up with his thin fingers the only bit of himself she could really see other than the gray hair poking over the top. The sound of her thumping into the wood of the frame drew his attention. His fingers shifted on the paper, bending it down enough to peer over the curve and Marianne’s eyebrows shot way up, glare forgotten at the sight of two lenses breaking their eye contact.

“Bog…”

“Marianne?”

“Aren’t you taking this old man act a little far?”

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“It’s just us here, you know.” She indicated his face. “Do you really need to add the glasses to the mix?”

Bog sighed, dropping the paper to the desk and pulling the glasses off, blinking a few times before looking at her again. “I need them.”

“Why?” she pushed off of the frame and took over one of the chairs in front of his desk instead. She reached over and took them away from his fingers, the card forgotten in her lap while she observed the sudden tid-bit she had discovered. The frames were older, black and the lenses were surprisingly real. She put them on, blinking through them only to take them off again with a little laugh. “Aren’t vampires supposed to have…bionic vision or something?”

“For the most part,” he braced an elbow upon the table, resting his chin upon his fist. “For instance, I can see the flecks of make-up that escaped your brush when you did your eyes this morning on your shirt. Not to mention the ketchup stain on your jeans you thought you blended in yesterday at lunch but I can assure you, you didn’t. Same pair of jeans three days in a row, huh? What would Dawn say?”

Marianne’s gaze dropped down to her chest, plucking at her shirt and squinting at the black cotton. She nearly bent in half trying to see what he had seen and sure enough there were traces of purple dust from her eye shadow on the fabric. Lifting her head back up, she held up the glasses. “Okay, you’re still a walking telescope. Got it. So what’s with these then?”

Bog reached out for them and she slapped them into his open palm. He sat back in his chair, unfolding them and sliding them back on. Once again, he needed to blink but soon enough he was picking the paper up again, flapping it open so that it would hold its shape. Marianne observed him while he skimmed over the contents until he was satisfied and sat upright, tilting down the frames just enough to look at her over them.

“I can see things that are far away easily enough, but my eyesight wasn’t perfect when I was alive so, naturally, I have to deal with it throughout my immortality as well.” He pushed them back up the bridge of his nose and assumed the reading position again.

“You’re farsighted?” she smiled. “I had no idea.”

Bog smirked over the paper at her, “You don’t know everything about me, Marianne. It has, after all, only been a year.”

“No but I’ve got time to find more out.” Marianne challenged, settling into the chair some more. Now that she had him talking, she wasn’t ready to let him go back to his paper like the old man he was. No one reads the paper anymore and she knew he had a computer somewhere in this house. Catch up with the times, Bog, be one of the cool kids for once!

“What do you have there?” Bog asked, not looking up from his paper.

Of course bionic man noticed the invitation in that short amount of time. Marianne sneered at the card as she picked it up from her lap between two fingers, flicking it onto his desk. His hand slapped over it before it could keep sliding, the man barely even looking up from the paper until it was in his hand. He laid the newspaper down again, lifting the card up to the light and pausing. He twisted it around and showed her the obvious shoe print with a look that clearly said: “Really?” Marianne smirked this time and he shook his head, flipping it around in his fingers then reading over the details.

“The Spring Ball,” he read aloud, lowering the card. “Your father must have sent this to you.”

“Yep,” Marianne nodded sharply, “I went to that ball every year since I was eight. It is a family tradition for all of us to go and I skipped out last year because of Roland.”

“You said you were over Roland.” He reminded her, removing his glasses again and setting them aside.

“I am! I just don’t want to see his face again!”

“That would be a no.” he chuckled, much to her irritation. “Well then, Marianne, what will you do?”

She could do a number of things. Come up with a plethora of excuses! Marianne could just not go and suffer the consequences that would come in the form of a guilt trip from her father and a shit storm courtesy of Dawn. Dawn might have been crafted from kittens and baby laughs but she could raise hell whenever Marianne didn’t give her a chance to help her dress up for a special event. Marianne might have been the protective sister but Dawn was the one who could bend her to her will with those big blue eyes.

Or, Marianne could suck it up, be a big girl and go to the ball as the Reluctant Cinderella. There were still a few dresses she had left over from those days packed away at her apartment. She could show up dressed to kill, dance with her dad, jump in front of Dawn waving her hands to make her snap out of her boy haze long enough to see she was there, then book it back to her apartment for a well-deserved movie night with that pint of ice cream that has been calling her name since breakfast. Then there was the rebellious route where she could go and mingle with the guests, flirt with a few guys and shove some PDA down Roland’s throat with another guy before slinking off to the shadows like some…vampire. She nearly snickered at the little touch of irony to the plan but couldn’t share that mirth with Bog because she was supposed to be mad at him for laughing at her. Bog wasn’t invited to the after party because he was being an ass today. _He_ could go to the Spring Ball and then they’d see who was laughing then. Marianne’s mind immediately froze at the thought and then the gears started turning as a thought crossed her mind.

Why should she suffer alone that night?

“Heeeeey, Bog.” She smirked up at him. He already looked suspicious. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Which is?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“What are you doing Saturday?”

Bog immediately looked down at the invitation then back up at her. “Marianne.” His tone was warning but she wouldn’t be swayed before she even laid out her plan.

“Hear me out, Bog. My dad expects me to be there, its tradition. I got it. However, Roland is also going to be there and dad might get the idea to nudge me his way if he saw that I showed up alone to this shin-dig. Soooo, if I could get you to go too, dad might back off. At least long enough for me to deal with the ritual mingling, show Dawn I didn’t flake out, grab a drink, and slam down a shrimp cocktail before we blow out of there. I came, they saw, we conquer.”

“Your plan is to bring an old man as your date?” he asked, Marianne looking at her handy work with a grin.

“Oh, wouldn’t that be interesting…”

“Marianne, before you start with your evil plan, remember that you are trying to appease your father, not make him want to question your sanity.” He pointed out. “Besides, I don’t have to go to this just because you’re uncomfortable. This is _your_ party.”

“Bog! You’re my pal, remember?” she threw her hands up. “Come on, one year of loyal service and two pints of blood doesn’t get me at least one little favor?”

He sneered at her now, the grumpy old vampire starting to come back to play. Marianne wanted to hit rewind and bring the teasing, agreeable Bog back but she already fucked up. Her arms dropped and she tried to switch tactics. It might have only been a year but she did learn enough about him to know where the proper buttons were. Marianne pushed herself upright in her chair and stood up, trying to ignore the irritation in his falsely wrinkled features while trailing around his desk and standing beside his chair. His eyes followed her like an alert animal, suspicious and alert. She leaned into his chair, propping her elbow on the back and blatantly avoiding eye contact when she looked at his hair.

“We could give you a new dye job.” She played to the idea she was still trying to convince him to go, lightly laying her hand on top of his head. “I could make it your natural hair color, before all this gray dye was thrown into the mix.” She thoughtfully ran her fingers through the strands and he stiffened, hands going to the armrests and gripping them tight. Marianne relished the power she had over him, concealing it with casual ignorance of what she was doing to him just with one hand alone. “What was it again?”

“Brown,” the word came out a little dry and he cleared his throat, all traces of irritation gone. “It was dark brown.”

“That would look good on you.” She complimented, sounding more like a flirtatious hair dresser by the second. Marianne stood behind the chair now, fingers lightly running through his hair one more time, slipping through until the strands fell free of her touch when he jolted to his feet, putting some distance between them. Bulls-eye. Bog had become so awkward when she had to dye his hair for the first time that Marianne had tucked that little gem into the back of her mind for months. This was the first opportunity she ever thought to use it and it turned out to be worth it.

“Alright, alright! I’ll go to that party with you!” He snapped, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Are ye happy nau?”

“Your accent is showing.” She grinned and he snarled again. Marianne let the mirth fade in favor of something more genuine, her features softening while he made a quick exit from the study. “Thanks, Bog.”

\------------

“I’m staking him. I’m staking him in the fucking heart!”

“Marianne…” Dawn laid her hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down but she was livid.

Even though she was in a floor length dress, Marianne was still one hundred percent certain she could go Buffy on his ass and look good doing it at the same time. Right after she got out of there, she was hunting that useless leech down and stuffing a clove of garlic in his mouth whether it would actually hurt him or not, she could still choke him with it! He said he was going to come to the ball but he still hadn’t shown up. Dawn was getting restless because Marianne had been dragging her off to the side to keep her company throughout their first hour there. She might have been abandoned by her dead date but by God someone was going to suffer with her through this night. Her sister was her best target.

“I’m sure Bog has a perfectly reasonable explanation for taking so long.” Dawn soothed, rubbing her arms while Marianne seethed.

“Fucker better be dead twice over to get out of this.”

“There you two are!”

Marianne’s fuming couldn’t have been knocked off her face faster than if she had punched herself when she heard her father approaching. Dawn twirled around and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck with a girlish squeal. Marianne held her shoulders back and gave him a closed-lipped smile that might have looked cool and confident on her face but actually felt hard as hell to maintain. Once Dawn let go, he came to her and she stiffened in his arms at the warm embrace, closing her eyes and wishing she could resist the fatherly love seeping into her skin. She sighed contentedly, her anger pacified long enough for her to lean into him, hands finally resting against his back.

“You two look stunning!” he complimented, having the two of them stand side by side to get a better look at them.

Marianne had helped Dawn with her make-up, the girl practically looking like a fairy princess with her pinks and blues accompanied by touches of glitter Marianne had painstakingly applied while hoping not to get any of it onto herself. No glitterpocks for her, thank you very much. Dawn gave them a spin to show off the pale blue gown she wore that was to her knees in the front but dusted her calves in the back. Her short hair was piecy but sported a pale pink flower tucked behind her ear in a pop of color against her sunshine head. Marianne thought she looked pure, innocent and much younger than she really was. Hopefully that would keep the men from getting any ideas about being too handsy with her tonight.

While Dawn was all light, Marianne had gone for darkness. It matched her mood, in her opinion, thought she had been pleasant enough while getting ready for the shin-dig. She wore a plum colored dress with one off the shoulder strap and a textured bodice that led to a fitted chiffon skirt before it flared out at her knees to the floor. She felt elegant in this dress when she originally bought it over two years ago but Roland didn’t like how dark it was when she originally wanted to wear it to the Spring Ball. Ha, ha, she still got to wear it! Suck it, Roland! She didn’t do much with her hair but she did pay special attention to her make-up, giving herself winged eyeliner with two-toned eye shadow that were different shades of purple, giving her gaze more of an edge. Marianne wanted to look nice to satisfy Dawn but dangerous enough to stay off any curious men.  
It had the opposite effect since she first walked in the door.

Many pairs of eyes followed her when she and Dawn first walked in. Her sister running off the moment she heard the music playing and leaving her standing dumbfounded on the stairs. She suffered the approaches of a few guys but managed to get through with minimal eye twitching, her mouth already ached from the false smiles. Now, however, her father had found them and with no Bog to act as a buffer, he was going to be making strategic introductions soon.

“Sorry I’m late.” A thick accent startled Marianne when long fingers rested over her shoulder, a lean body at her side and she jerked her head up so fast she thought she nearly threw it out.

Bat Man had finally shown up and he looked…nice…for a stick insect.

Bog had refused to let her dye his hair for him, insisting he could do it himself since it was just for one night. She had a feeling it had something to do with how she manipulated him into agreeing to go the other day but still felt too miffed to enjoy the satisfaction she should have. Marianne half expected it to be a shitty job but it actually looked decent with more than one shade creating the dark strands slicked back on his head. He wore a nice suit, hardly distinguishable from the rest of the men in penguin suits but he had the added bonus of cufflinks and a tie clip. Call her crazy but his darkened hair almost seemed to make his eyes stand out even more.

“Marianne…” her father’s cautious tone drew her attention back and she offered up another smile, though the corners of her mouth twitched with tired muscles. “Who is this?”

“Ah—this is…” Shit. She forgot the cover story! Bog wasn’t in the old man make-up tonight and she had no idea how to explain why he looked similar to her boss. Her eyes flicked to Dawn, who pursed her lips in thought but gave a minuscule shrug of her shoulders. Big help, sis, thanks a lot.

“My name is Brochan Kingston, your daughter has been taking care of my uncle for the past year.” Bog explained in that thickened accent that didn’t match the usual brogue-touched words of his typical speech. He extended a hand to her father and she eyed it warily, hoping to any deities that may have been listening that he fed recently. At least enough to not feel as cold as a dead fish when her father took that hand. Her silent pleas were answered because her father shook the offered hand without much of a fuss aside from unnecessary suspicion. “My uncle insisted I accompany Miss Springdale tonight as a thank you for her help this past year.”

“Yeah, stubborn old bat wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Marianne commented with a breathless laugh, the last of her nerves seeping out with it while earning a warning look from Bog. Hey, it was his cover story; she was just trying to keep who he really was included in it! It felt good to drop-kick the nerves in favor of some good old-fashion rebellion. He wasn’t going to get off Scott free for one little save from an awkward moment. Bog still owed her big time. “Is that why you took so long, Brochan? Paying Mr. Kingston a visit?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kingston but Dawn tells me he’s quite lively for a man his age.” Dagda interrupted before Bog could counter her.

“Yes, how does he do it, I wonder?” Marianne asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully, Bog’s lips pressing together tightly as he narrowed his gaze at her, trying to assume a neutral expression again when he faced Dagda again.

“Mr. Kingston can be very lively, yes, especially whenever he is visited by Miss Marianne.” There was a bite to her name that made her only smirk even more. She was eating his nerves right up and enjoying every minute of it.

“Do your come visit him often?” Dagda asked conversationally.

“As often as I can. I’m back in Glasgow, you see, and it’s pretty expensive flying back and forth. Unfortunately, I can only muster one visit a year but he assures me he is well taken care of.” He reached out to pat her on the back but slapped Marianne’s back a little harder than necessary and she nearly pitched forward at the force of it. He hooked a finger in the back of her dress to hold her in place, hiding the evidence of his smack from her father. He soon moved his hand back to her shoulder and she resisted pinching it with everything she had in her.

The swell of the music starting up with a new caught Dagda’s attention from the awkward pair, his blue-green gaze turning to Dawn with a silent invitation and she smiled up at him. Dawn shimmied over to his side, linking her arm with his, which he patted affectionately. His attention went back to Bog and Marianne and she noticed how wary his gaze was on Bog’s hand still resting on her shoulder. Damn it, he was accessing their closeness! Her little game had turned into a red alert to her father and she needed to improvise a means of fixing it!

Marianne forced herself to relax into Bog’s side, his arm tensing before it went around her back, fingers barely touching her skin before they twitched away and relocated to a safer spot against her dress. The sudden contact didn’t seem to convince her father but he escorted Dawn away to the floor to get his first dance in with his youngest. Marianne knew she would be up next but for now she had plenty of time to go play “how many ways to re-kill a vampire.”  
Speaking of which!

As soon as Dagda was joining the crowd, Marianne snagged a hold of Bog’s pristine tie and hauled him off to the shadows of the back wall. He didn’t resist her dragging him off but she thought she heard him choke a moment, which drew a murderous smile across her lips as she led the way. There were plenty of shady spots in the brilliantly lit ballroom thanks to the architecture and it wasn’t long before Marianne was shoving him into the shadows made by the balcony overhang from the second floor of the structure. Wrapping his tie around her hand tighter and clenching it in a fist she thrust the side of her arm up into his neck and pushed him against the wall.

“Where the hell were you?” she hissed. Good, she didn’t scream. Screaming was bad. People would react to screaming in a public place, Marianne. So, watch it!

Bog’s head smacked against the wall and Marianne almost hesitated at the sound of the thud. One knock wouldn’t do too much damage, right? His hands went to the wall behind him rather than focus on pushing her away, one raising to rub at the back of his head, squinting down at her through one eye. His previously schooled expression turning into a scowl tinged with nerves when he saw her glowering up at him. He was probably more surprised by the fact she had managed to put him in a chokehold so suddenly than he was aware of the fact that she was trying to partially stifle a man who didn’t need to breathe. Clearing his throat with apparent discomfort, he held his hands up in a peaceful gesture but she only pushed her arm into him harder. He almost gagged this time and snarled with a trace of his fangs starting to descend. Whoops.

“I was trying to find you a present!” He huffed, his eyes dark with irritation. “The last I checked, that’s what a date is supposed to do when they show up.”

“I didn’t ask you to bring me anything!” Her death grip on his tie eased a bit though, the mentioning of a present making her curious. Not that she was materialistic…she just hadn’t gotten a present from him before. “I don’t see anything.”

“You didn’t think I’d show up with half a flower shop did you?” he rolled his eyes. “If you would just let me go, I’ll give it to you.”

Marianne sighed, the puff of air blowing her bangs from her eyes still glaring up at him but she drew her arm back at last. He relaxed without her pinning him to the wall, his eyes dropping to her fist still holding his tie hostage and she rolled her eyes, unwinding her fingers from the strip of fabric. Once she took a step back to give him his personal space again, he set to work on smoothing out his tie, fixing the knot and sliding the tail back into the clip where it had been pulled free. Marianne watched him, arms crossed over her chest and tapping her foot as she waited. Her eye caught the glimmer of something orange and squinted at the amber cufflinks on his shirt sleeves. Apparently he had worn amber cufflinks tonight, something she hadn’t seen very many of since most of the blue bloods in the room sported diamonds or simple silver and gold. He finished fussing with the tie, giving it one more brush of his fingers.

Marianne held her hand out expectantly. “Present.”

Bog slipped his hand into his jacket to find the gift tucked away inside and for a terrifying moment, Marianne was immediately falling into a flashback of a familiar gesture. Roland was doing the same thing, sitting across from her in his favorite restaurant with his award-winning smile and withdrawing a little black box from the depths. Her throat closed up and she held her breath, shutting her eyes and willing the memory away, risking a peek at Bog’s wrist as it came out with a box but it wasn’t the little felt black box, it was a white, flat, cardboard box and much bigger than one a ring would sit in. She heaved in relief, her hand jumping back up again for the gift. He handed it over to, the box settling into her palm.

“What did you do, go to Macy’s?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she worked the lid off and tilted the opening toward her. ‘Oh…”

Inside the box was more white cardboard but only to hold up a silvery necklace with a simple butterfly design. Small purple gems dotted the exterior of the wings with plain silver veins and a body of tiny rhinestones. She glanced up at him then down at the gift again. It was very pretty and not something she expected to wear on a daily basis but she liked it. _Hell, she liked it a lot_. 

“Those rhinestones almost look real.” She murmured, running her fingertip over the butterfly’s slim thorax. Even in the shadows the little jewels sparkled with tiny flashes of light.

“False jewelry has come a long way. It can look very close.” He commented, holding out his hand. “May I?”

“Sure,” she handed it back to him, still a little dazzled by the sparkle. She blinked rapidly at the empty space between them, flicking her gaze back up to Bog when she remembered she was supposed to be mad at him still. She pointed a finger up at him while he freed the necklace from the cardboard in a glimmer of silver chain. “Don’t think you’re off the hook because you bought me a shiny!”

“Wouldn’t have dreamed of it.” Bog chuckled, deftly closing up the box and hiding it away in his pocket again. She half expected him to fumble with the tiny clasp with those awkwardly long fingers but he unlatched it easily enough, holding it up for her. “You need to turn around if you expect me to see what I’m doing.”

“Don’t you need glasses for that?” she quipped but turned around anyway. Probably a bad idea because he could potentially strangle her with that thing as payback for the previous tie choking. She wouldn’t blame him. The butterfly hovered near her face, dangling close to her nose to the point she went cross-eyed in trying to follow it before it lowered. The pendant alighted upon her clavicle and she felt his knuckles brushing the little hairs at the back of her neck when he clasped the two ends together.

“There. You’re free to resume your tongue lashing anytime now.”

Oh, she should have. He made her wait over an hour for his bony ass to show up and she had been ready for blood before her dad cooled her off enough to have only slightly homicidal thoughts. Bog deserved yelling and screaming for making her feel practically abandoned earlier but the words were oddly hard to find with the presence of the little necklace distracting her. Her fingers fidgeted with it while she contemplated how to make him feel bad for making her wait but every little touch of the cool metal erased every vicious thought.

_Smooth motherfucker._

“This isn’t over.”

“Of course not.” he conceded with his hands up in that surrender gesture again. His eyes glanced over her head. “Better look alive; your father is coming back this way.”

Marianne spun around with another smile. She was honestly going to have one stuck on her face at this rate. Be it a real smile or some twisted version of one that was half genuine and half “kiss my ass” it was going to happen before the night was over. As Dagda came to her, Dawn dislodged from his arm with a kiss on his cheek before she was practically diving for Bog, Marianne jumping out of her way before she was caught in the line of fire. Dawn latched onto Bog’s arm with a grin so bright the man should have turned into a pile of ash in the mere presence of it. His eyebrows skyrocketed and Marianne snickered while he glanced at her uncomfortably at the overly affectionate hands indiscreetly stroking up his arm. It was a pet, nothing more but Bog seemed to be extremely uncomfortable.

“Come on Boggy, we’re dancing!” she tugged him away from the wall and he staggered after her.

“Have fuuuun!” Marianne called after them, earning an exasperated sigh from her boss before he was pulled into the crowd. With the other two occupied, Marianne faced her dad. “Well dad, shall we?”

He held out his arm with a nod and she thoughtfully slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, his fingers gently resting over hers as he escorted her to join the rest of the dancers. “You know, Marianne, I couldn’t help but notice. Your friend, Mr. Kingston, he’s rather pale isn’t he?”

“He’s from Scotland, Dad. They’re known for having a lot of rain up there.” She explained, shrugging a shoulder. “Sunlight is hard to come by.”

“I know that,” he glanced over at the other dancers moving to the upbeat song filling the atmosphere around them. “Maybe he can get a little sun while he’s visiting your charge. California is nothing if not sunny.”

Once in a remotely clear spot of floor amongst the other dancers, Dagda assumed the familiar position. He held his arms out and Marianne took one of his hands, her hand bracing on his arm as he assumed the age-old stance but they both knew how this dance was really going to go. They shared a reminiscent smile, Dagda shuffling his feet and she grinned in spite of her previous sourpuss attitude towards the Spring Ball, shifting side to side with him.

So far, aside from Bog being tardy, the night hadn’t been too bad. She hadn’t seen Roland and a few unwanted looks from the attending guys were small prices to pay for how pleased her dad seemed to be to have her there. She still doubted she would have as much fun as she used to but at least this one dance they made in tribute to her mother would make coming worthwhile. They bounced along to the cheerful tune, her father chuckling when she couldn’t resist smiling at the silliness that was all their dance seemed to be, Dagda taking her hands in his and they made a little circle before coming back in, Marianne wrapping an arm around her father and embracing him with her chin resting upon his shoulder.

In their little circle shuffle, she noticed the top of Bog’s head amidst the crowd. It took a moment, but enough of the crowd shifted apart for her to see Dawn still dancing with him and they were actually dancing. She didn’t know what it was but there was footwork and twirling and Dawn seemed to be on cloud nine. The pearly white grin on her little sister’s face was all she needed to know she was okay and Bog didn’t seem to be treading on any toes. His height and thin build made his movements look a bit awkward but he wasn’t bad.

Did he know how to dance other dances as well? Marianne never really had an opportunity at the house to ask him about his free time. The man had lived for hundreds of years; surely he picked up a few dance lessons to pass the time at least once during his immortality. He lived through centuries when dancing was the only thing one could do at a party after all. Oh, now she had to ask! Just…not tonight. Right now her time was supposed to be dedicated to her father.

“Dawn certainly seems to be enjoying herself.” Her father’s comment distracted her and she nodded.

“Better than having her flit from guy to guy like she’s been doing since she was sixteen.”

The utter exasperation that crossed his face made Marianne laugh, laying her forehead against his shoulder again while she recovered. The song wrapped up, drawing her away from her father’s shoulder and he hesitated in taking her back to the rest of the party, lingering on the dance floor with her hand in his. He thoughtfully laid his other hand over the one in his palm. Marianne raised a questioning eyebrow up at her father and he met her gaze with a guarded expression that read he was uncertain about something.

“What’s wrong?” she grasped his hands in hers.

“I know how much you didn’t want to come tonight.” Dagda admitted, Marianne groaning.

“Dawn told you didn’t she?” she twisted to hunt her down but her dad held her hands fast.

“She did but I could see myself how much you didn’t want to come.” He touched her cheek, calming her down when she started to bristle again. “Because of that, I asked Roland not to come to the Spring Ball this year.”

No wonder she hadn’t seen the shit stain lurking in the crowd. But color her shocked to hear her own father, who nearly worshiped the ground Roland walked on, took the steps to actually tell Roland not to come tonight. She gawked up at him, her mouth falling slack and her father smiled back at her, chuckling and lightly nudging her chin with his knuckle so that she closed her mouth. Marianne fell into him, wrapping him in the first genuine hug she had given him in months. She swelled with pride in her father’s final decision to stop helping Roland win her back and actually give him up for her sake. He was finally taking her side!

She affectionately gave her father one more squeeze then let him go. He reluctantly excused himself to make his rounds with the other guests but promised to make his way back to her soon. As soon as she was on her own, she started to make her way off of the dance floor, practically glowing for the first time all night. Her revelry was short-lived when soft hands grasped her upper arm, tugging her to a halt before she could slink off into the shadows.

“Where are you going?” Dawn asked, dragging her back a step. “You have to dance!”

“With you?”Marianne scoffed, “I’ll stomp all over your feet if you think you’re going to get me moving around to your footwork!”

“No, silly!” she giggled, swinging her around and shoving her into another familiar pair of hands. “With Boggy!”

“Bog.” The blunt correction was low and loaded with fed-up submission to the nick name. He should have learned by now that both of the Springdale sisters enjoyed their nicknames, whether the recipients liked them or not.

“Well it’s not even that, anymore, _Brochan_.”

“Remind me why I did this for you again?” he asked, letting her take him by the wrist and half drag him back out to the dance floor. She was in a good mood, his griping ignored while she rounded about and held his hand aloft, slapping hers into his open palm. He put his hand against a shoulder blade, her free hand on his shoulder but that was about as far as she got with dancing. The gentle tones of the song, much slower than before were easy to slip into, Marianne starting to shuffle her feet, Bog arching an eyebrow, glancing down at her little steps. When he met her eye again, she rolled her eyes.

“Not all of us are dancers.”

“I suppose not,” he let her shuffle, eventually moving his own feet and they started the little circle.

Marianne felt his foot nudge hers and she stepped back to avoid him potentially stepping on her toes but he drew his foot away. There was a little pull on her hand and back, drawing her to bring her foot forward to keep herself from awkwardly widening the gap in between them. He didn’t look at her when she raised a questioning look his way, continuing to shuffle until she finally averted her eyes again. The toe of his shoe nudged the pointed shape of her pump so she stepped away from it again, this time to the side and he took a step in the same direction, eyes still not on her but she was starting to see a trace of a smile on his lips.

Marianne let it go but then he stepped back and she frowned, following him to correct the distance. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, innocent as can be.

“Uh huh, try again.” She let her words drip with her skepticism.

He moved to the side, his body twisting and she tried to step up to him to assume the position again but he backed up another step, Marianne stubbornly following. His evasive movements were starting to get irritating and he was really asking for it when she was supposed to be basking in a good mood tonight after all the doom and gloom she had been feeling about this night for days. Marianne felt him try to evade her again and she tugged herself closer, bumping into his chest and shaking her hand free of his, grasping a handful of his lapel.

“For Christ's sake, Bog! What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you.” He pushed her foot with the toe of his shoe and she stepped back, Bog following and looming up close in front of her. She had to lean back a bit to avoid that long nose.

“I can’t dance.” She frowned. “Not with actual footwork, anyway. Just Dance is another story.”

“No? Well, you certainly look like you have been.”

“Say again?” she looked down at her feet and he showed her what he had been doing, his left foot carefully nudging her right back, sliding his own right into the ball of her left foot and pushing it over to the right. He stepped back from her and she moved her left foot forward to follow his shoe and her right foot rushed to join her other one, stopping beside its partner. He froze after seeing it herself, jerking her head back up to gawk at him. “Did I just do a box-step?”

“Almost. More like a triangle.” He teased but her mouth split open wide in a grin.

“Holy—Bog—” she opened and closed her mouth. “Do it again!”

He led her through the motion again, Marianne following his feet with her eyes but she wobbled a bit this time.

“It helps when you don’t pay attention to your feet.” Bog reminded her, Marianne resolutely holding her head up. It wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t graceful, it was more like an awkward prom dance more than anything but she was loving the fact that her feet were accomplishing something outside the realm of walking and running.  
There was a sudden sour note from the stage as one of the brass players was shoved aside and Bog stopped, looking up while Marianne followed his gaze, the rest of the dancers going still as the ball suddenly went dark. She felt Bog release her but a protective hand settled over her shoulder as she squinted through the darkness. Vague shapes of curious heads and twisting bodies obscured the darkness and she reached over to Bog, fingers finding his jacket. She grasped handfuls of it, trying to pull him down to her level to whisper near his ear. It was so quiet in the room she didn’t want to be overheard. Her mouth grazed stubble and both of them jumped, his body tugging away but she fought the embarrassing mistake, hauling him back down.

“What do your vamp eyes see up there?” she hissed, willing the persistent burn in her cheeks to disappear.

“Ah—” he faltered, “You’re not going to like it.”

With uncanny timing, the speakers that had been left unused during the performance of the live band, crackled to life. They snapped and popped with the sudden electricity and someone was making connections in the dark. Bog made a low, pained noise beside her, the sound probably having been murder on his sensitive ears. His hand disappeared, probably to cover his ears and she thought to pat his arm in sympathy when voices of The Four Seasons suddenly echoed off of the walls. A collection of voices singing “Marianne” filled the room with pleading, harmonious tones bringing the nineteen sixties crashing down over the crowd. Marianne herself stood rooted to the spot, her eyes staring into the darkness wide and vacant.

The lights near the stage illuminated and there stood Roland at the microphone, the original singer of the evening standing off to the side looking dumbfounded by his abrupt stealing of the show. The Four Seasons continued their backup but Roland took over the deleted audio from the original vocalist, filling the spot with his Elvis-like drawl. He looked the same way he did on every magazine article and commercial Marianne encountered. Hair still golden, face long recovered from her attack on him years ago, and rocking a black tux with his favorite green tie. Roland looked like a girl’s wet dream but she wasn’t feeling the heat or the buzz she used to feel at the sight of him. She was feeling cold, empty and…scared. She was scared as hell that he had shown up after her father had asked him not to. If he didn’t listen to her father of all the people he sucked up to, Roland had reached a whole new level of audacity. Bog’s hand returned to her shoulder, his concerned voice miles away when she watched Roland pluck the microphone from its stand and start to walk along the stage with slow, deliberate steps, flashing his smile at the crowd.

“Marianne,” Bog’s voice fell on deaf ears, as muffled as if he had been speaking underwater and for a moment she felt his fingers when they squeezed her shoulder but then the touch was gone. She was vaguely aware that he had suddenly disappeared from her side but she couldn’t even be irritated he had run off. It was like she was watching everything unfold from a one-way glass, her mind screaming and pounding on the glass but her body itself still and vacant. Her rage was boiling in her stomach but it failed to rise to the surface when Marianne’s eyes followed Roland as he crossed the stage, singing his heart out to her. There was no one else he would be singing to. She knew that much. It was only her.

The chandelier over her head illuminated, the brightness flaring a bit then adjusting to a more intimate level. The sudden touch of light in the otherwise dark room drew eyes to her that weren’t on Roland when he spotted her and leapt down from the stage. Inside she was screaming when she saw him walking for her, parting the crowd with his presence alone until he was nearly in front of her. The sight of his face, the song he sang, it was dredging up memories that had been buried more than six feet in her head, calling to them like a morbid necromancer’s song until they came ripping out of the metaphorical dirt. It had become a horde of recollection zombies out for brains.

“C’mon Marianne!” he sang, holding his hand out to her.

_This song is meant for you, Buttercup!_ Marianne cringed at the memory, feeling herself transported back to the night she was curled up into the man’s side, his fingers running up and down her arm while they listened to the ipod playing through his car stereo. They had made out in his back seat like some couple from a fifties flick, only there was no monster to kill them in mid lip-lock. If only there had been. Well, okay, there was one but he came later. Much later. Back in la-la land, Roland had kissed her into the seat cushion with all the sweetness of an ice cream sundae. She lay there flushed from head to toe; her ignorant heart singing his praises when he cuddled down with her, tucking her head under his cheek with a firm push she didn’t realize had been so abrupt until now. _Only I’ll never cheat on you, darlin’._

But he did! The shallow son of a bitch did cheat on her! Her fingers were starting to get some sensation back in them and they started to curl into themselves, creating fists at her sides. Marianne blinked free of the vacan owl-eyed stare at him as he continued to sing the song, though he looked a little nervous because she hadn’t reacted to him standing there with his hand out yet. He fell to a knee, still holding his hand to her with imploring eyes and she twitched back a step at last.

The music suddenly cut off and Roland coughed on the suddenly broken lead, jerking his head around to the stage where his helpers were suddenly missing and Marianne’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Bog standing there, dangling the power chord to the speaker system from a long finger, his other hand in his pocket and head tilting off to the side, regarding Roland with a scathing look. Roland looked back to Marianne, perplexed now that his plan had been so utterly smashed to bits. He tried to improvise, smiling up at her with twitchy lips that betrayed his uneasiness.

Marianne was blind to Roland’s smile by Bog glancing over at one of Roland’s friends, starting to twirl the chord around as if inviting them to come try and get it back, much to the amusement of the crowd. Snickers and chortles soothed Marianne out of her frozen state. It was a bit stiff at first but she smiled, breathing a sigh of relief at the reclaiming of her own body at last. 

Dawn appeared at the front of the stage, stopping at Bog’s feet and passing him her phone while fighting a grin and he glanced down at it. Apparently whatever had been on the screen had been amusing because he smirked. Bog nodded his head with approval and she took it back scampering off to the back of the stage while he tossed the chord free, snatching the head back from the air and turned back to the outlet where plugged the speakers back in. They shrieked with the sudden surge of power returned to them. Grimacing at the noise, Bog dropped down to the floor, sitting down upon the edge of the stage while Dawn reappeared at his side, plugging her phone into the same wire that had been used to play “Marianne” earlier. The room was punctuated with the beat of a drum and the tapping of a cowbell that left Marianne nearly dying on the spot in a fit of laughter as the familiar voice of a pissed off Pink started talking into the unfit classy atmosphere of the Spring Ball.

Some of the older attendants looked scandalized by the choice of music but after the scene Roland just pulled, they could kiss her ass on what was appropriate for a charity even and handle one more impromptu slam. Marianne focused on Roland now, burying the memory zombies back in the earth and smacking them down over and over with a shovel until there was nothing left but her own thoughts again. Her grin turned wicked as she held her head up high, shoulders back and took a step towards him. His face paled a bit at the sight of her regained confidence and he scrambled out of his kneeling position while Pink told the story of unwanted attention at the club. Roland was backing up step by step while she stalked him slowly with a predatory stare.

She wasn’t a pansy ass peon anymore, she was a mother fucking dark queen!

Roland was running out of retreat room fast and she darted her hand out, snatching up the microphone from him with deft fingers. He tripped over his own feet in trying to switch his rout, toppling backwards to the ground and springing up enough to start scooting away from her and head in another direction and this time, Marianne joined Pink in a smug duet that missed the first line but the she fell into step with it while still hunting Roland around the dance floor.

_Don’t touch, back up, I’m not the one._  
A--Buh-bye!  
Listen up it’s just not happenin’.  
You can say what you want to your boyfriends.  
Just let me have my fun tonight.  
A’ight? 

_I’m not here for your entertainment!_  
You don’t really wanna mess with me tonight!  
Just stop and take a second! I was fine before you walked into my life!  
‘cause you know it’s over before it began!  
Keep your drink, just gimme the money!  
It’s just you and your hand tonight! 

Marianne tossed the microphone aside and snagged Roland by his collar, hauling him up to his feet. He hadn’t realized it but she had basically corralled him right to the doors during her little dramatic display. Once he was square on the soles of his shoes, she shoved him by his shoulders through the doors, smirking as he disappeared through them, stumbling out into the passageway before they swung back shut again in his wake. She dusted her hands off with a clap and turned about, spotting the on-looking crowd as the song continued to play, some of them bobbing to the music while Dawn had her hands clasped over her mouth, kicking her feet in a flurry of skirt to hold back her laughter while leaning into Bog’s arm.

The band was preparing to play again, the singer snatching up Dawn’s phone but she didn’t immediately cut it off, letting it play through while tapping her hand upon her thigh in a subtle show of appreciation for the song. Marianne strode across the room, not giving a flying fuck what the old blue bloods thought about her. This was no walk of shame; this was a victory lap for turning around Roland’s attempt at winning her back and throwing it back in his face. When she reached the stage, she held out her hand and Dawn slapped her a high five. Bog nodded his head to her, though he looked a bit uncomfortable where he sat in plain sight of the rest of the crowd. Marianne didn’t blame him. Hell, she could have kissed him for putting himself in front of all those people like that for her sake!

One free neck bite coupon for Bat Man!

Dawn’s glee quickly turned into dread as she pointed a hesitant finger past Marianne and she glanced back over her shoulder in time to see her father making his way through the crowd and right for them. And he looked pissed. Marianne smiled tightly at her father, slowly turning her head back to Bog whose eyebrows skyrocketed at the sight of her approaching parent. He appeared just as petrified of his wrath as she was.

_Houston, we have a problem! Code Red! Danger Will Robinson, danger! Abort mission! Fucking abort!_

“Uh…I think its Cinderella time, Bog.” Marianne murmured through her tense lips.  
“Agreed.”

They were running from the stage before Dawn could even realize they were choosing to run. Every woman for herself! Marianne wouldn’t have ran if she felt Dawn would have been in too much trouble but a little scolding was good for a growing girl! Marianne, however, had grown enough and her fatherly lectures had met their quota by the time she was seventeen, thank you very much! Bog probably could have been halfway back to his house at this point if he wanted to run fast enough but he held himself back for her human inconvenience, his hand wrapping around her wrist and nearly dragging her after him in their mad dash to the safety of anywhere but the Spring Ball.

By the time they found somewhere safe to collapse, they had left the venue behind and found shelter in the park across the street. Their offense at the Spring Ball wasn’t so bad they would send security after them but she would have almost preferred that to dealing with her father’s disapproval. Roland started it but she had to deal with the aftermath. Again.

Slowing down to a stop on the grass just out of sight from the hotel, Marianne flopped down, sprawling out in full evening wear across the soft greenery while Bog sank to his knees beside her, not breathless but he definitely looked rattled. Aftershocks of dreading her father’s wrath, probably. Marianne heaved for air, staring up at night sky while her chest rose and fell with every sweet breath of air. Her feet were going to amputate themselves and retire to Barbados after hauling ass in heels like that but she didn’t care about how much they hurt and that was saying something because they hurt a lot! She was exhilarated from the run and fought a fit of giggles until they spilled out of her, making her kick her shoes off to ease her bitching feet and cackling like a mad woman.

“I think I know where you get that glare from now.” Bog commented, reaching over and dragging one of her errant shoes out of the grass. He held it up in his hand, grimacing at the heel on it before gauging the size with his thumb and forefinger. “How on earth did you run in these?”

“Mind over matter, Bog.” She held up a finger, panting, “Mind—over matter.”

“I hope you don’t have to ask anymore favors of me in the future.” He dropped the shoe with a frown, “At least none that involve more musical numbers, anyway.”

“Aw, no karaoke nights with Dawn then?” she prodded his leg with her finger and he shifted it away from her, glowering at the playground not far from where they sat. “She won’t let you back down out of that if anyone remotely hints at the idea of going.”

“No,” his statement was firm but Marianne was nestled comfortably back into her sense of defiance, flashing a smug smirk at her boss while rolling onto her side, propping her elbow in the lawn while nestling her head against her fist. “Not a word to Dawn about singing of any kind! I already called enough attention to myself tonight.”

“Okay, that is a no to karaoke night.” She noted with a little pucker of her lips before they split into a mischievous smile. “In public anyway.”

He didn’t answer, stubbornly averting his eyes and shifting to sit back on the grass. It took him a moment to unfurl those ridiculously long limbs, stretching them out in front of him. They fell into silence again, her eyes drifting shut but she wasn’t tired, she just wanted to savor this peace after the chaotic events of the evening had finally ended.

She had been so angry at Bog for being late but hey, he did make an appearance. Once again Bog was there to pull her out of the fire and just when she was falling down a road she didn’t want to travel back onto, he took the wheel and swerved her back off of it. He was her grouchy, undead guardian and she was grateful for his uncanny timing that had led up to this fantastic partnership between them.

“Thanks, Bog.” She opened her eyes a sliver, sneaking her hand through he blades of grass until her fingers touched the cuff of his sleeve, pinching around it in a timid gesture of affection. “I owe you a feeding for this.”

“Not tonight,” he pulled his arm away and she slumped her head down, stretching her arm out while nestling into the limb. Marianne felt his hand pass over her hair, refusing the previous gesture but making up for his abruptness with something much sweeter as an apology. She smiled to herself, shutting her eyes again while his fingers slipped into her locks with one more stroke, hand settling on the curve of her skull. “I have plenty of time before we need to worry about that.”

“Well, my neck is fair game when the time comes,” her fingers crept to the butterfly necklace, tracing the wings. “I owe you a lifetime of favors for what you have done for me.”

“Marianne…please don't-”

“I’m not asking you to turn me, Bog. This isn’t about that. I’m just saying thanks. Thanks for being there, Bat Man.” His fingers moved, twisting a strand in them thoughtfully while her heart started beating just a little faster at his absent gesture.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really like the song battle going on here but I wanted this Spring Ball to resemble the original one from the movie. I have a limited music library so "U and Ur Hand" by Pink! was all I could really use for inspiration as Marianne's fight song. Could have used "Stronger" but Marianne is a bit more crude in this AU sometimes so I thought that would work.  
> Sorry if you didn't enjoy it. I hope there were other elements you might have appreciated here!


	7. The Last Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne has broken into Bog's house for the TV but is caught in the act when Bog comes home early. They bond over a Roland hate marathon but Marianne's mood has completely shifted when certain feelings rear their ugly head.

“What kind of a name is Roland Goldman?”

Marianne snickered, watching the name fade in and out at the bottom of the screen as the next episode of High School Heartbreak started playing. Roland was playing the part of an older brother to one of the main characters that was supposed to be handsome but dumber than a bag of rocks. It was perfect for him, in her humble opinion.

She had started a hate marathon at her apartment, originally, watching episodes from television series Roland had been in to slander him and have a laugh at his expense until the power went out when a car crashed into the pole up the street. Because of the already invasive rain slowing down the progress in fixing the downed pole, she took her marathon to Bog’s house since he was supposed to be at the hospital all day and hadn’t found a new hiding place for his spare key yet. Hey, she tried to remind him more than once about his poor choice in hiding spots. This wasn’t on her anymore. After letting herself in, Marianne had proceeded to set up camp in his living room with popcorn to eat but turned into ammunition to throw at Roland’s enlarged face on the television. No worries about grease spots for Bog to turn his nose up at, she also a bottle of Windex sitting on the coffee table to clean the butter smears off later before he came home.

Unfortunately, Bat Man was early and found her sprawled on his couch in the middle of a screening of Rocking Roadies, a movie that never saw a theater—thank God—where Roland was a country star and six girls were stalking him on a road trip across America in a poorly constructed jukebox musical. She was at the point where a girl was hanging out of the sunroof and screaming out a poor rendition of “Crazy in Love” at his face plastered on a billboard in fervent adoration when Bog suddenly came into the living room, looking utterly lost as to why such garbage was blaring on his television.

What started as a lecture about taking over his house without warning him first turned into a scathing remark on Roland’s God-awful singing when the girls finally broke into his concert near the end of the film. Marianne took advantage of his interrupted droning and threw another piece of popcorn at the television when Roland smiled at the camera, breaking the fourth wall. She was surprised when an unpopped kernel tinked upon the screen, her eyes darting to Bog where he scowled at the television and grumbled about her cleaning the screen later before retreating upstairs. She left the movie roll into the credits and followed him, grinning at his back the entire way to the make-up room.

Marianne helped him remove the prosthetics now that he was in for the night, carefully easing the old man façade off of his true face with plenty of remover swabbed along the glued edges. Once the piece had been removed, she gave him the green light to wash his face of the remaining make-up and glue residue, packing the wrinkles away for the next morning after a meticulous cleaning. Marianne tried to make idle chit-chat while he washed his face when she came into the bathroom and sat on the toilet lid, discreetly watching him from the corner of her eye when he bent over the vanity. It was a routine process and the counter was too low for his tall frame so, naturally, he had to lean in to keep the water from splashing all over the counter and even the floor. With his attention fixed on scrubbing his fingers into his face, eyes shut from the soap, Marianne propped her heel on the toilet lid, wrapping her arms around her leg while observing her boss mid-cleansing. She followed the curve of his spine through his shirt, the pull of the fabric when he moved his arms forward and the drag of his large hands over his face, water spilling from his fingertips and splattering back into the sink and spotting the counter surface of the vanity. 

The longer she watched, the more dangerous she was beginning to think this idea had become.

She swallowed, eyeing a stray droplet making a break for it down his cheek, zigzagging through his stubble and over the sharp edge of his jaw. A strange longing to catch that stray droplet with her tongue left Marianne nearly floored. Her foot slipped off the lid of the toilet which she firmly left it in its new place, hands grasping the sides of the bowl as she tensed, hoping he didn’t notice. That water droplet wasn’t finished with her though. It slid harmlessly down to his neck until he wiped it away with the absent brush of his fingers just as she licked her lips, mouth feeling suddenly dryer than a desert.

Clearly she didn’t have a clue he had actually been speaking the entire time and whatever the topic had been was utterly lost to the fog of inappropriate ogling. It was all financial, right? It was always financial, because the hospital wasn’t convinced the man who owned it knew anything about the medical field and then with his supposed age also considered, they tried to dumb everything down for him at the same time. His irritated growls after remarking on the “poncy” chief surgeon he had to deal with today did funny things to her insides and she immediately decided focusing on how his voice lowered and his accent became all the more obvious when he was irritated wasn’t helping with pure thoughts either. She abruptly excused herself to go rag on Roland some more, retreating to the safety of the living room and tried to make herself as small as possible under a couch pillow after switching out the disc for starting a television series by the time Bog had finished and occupied the other end of the couch.

Back in the present, they were getting a few minutes into High School Heartbreak together and Marianne was still grinning over Bog’s comment on Roland’s name. She continued to hold onto her pillow shield, letting the amusement keep her anger at Roland and the odd mixture of emotions concerning the man on the other side of the couch at bay.

“His real name is Roland Green. He didn’t think it was flashy enough when he decided he wanted to be an actor so he picked up the surname Goldman. Roland Goldman, it kind of sounds the same in my opinion and that’s what he thinks will help people remember his name when his career takes off. Not that it will, the man’s a terrible actor!”

“Agreed.” Bog shook his head at the man himself striding across the screen. “I’m amazed he’s still finding work.”

“It’s his face.” Marianne groused. “Movies work more with faces than talent anymore.”

“They’re going back to the original casting methods then.” Bog slouched on the couch further, dragging the small, antiquated footstool over by hooking his toes around the foot then propping his heels upon it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they brought back silent films one day, so long as the actors were attractive enough.”

Marianne nodded in agreement but while he was watching the false family exchange words over a dinner table, she was more focused on the way his eyes had gone hooded with obvious exhaustion. Bog was merely settling into his own couch, there was nothing wrong or suggestive about that but apparently Marianne had entered into the midst of a brain fart because that was the only explanation behind her incapability of looking back at the screen in that moment. Wriggling his shoulders into the cushion, Bog tilted his head onto the back of the couch but kept his eyes mere slits to keep watching the mind-numbing series.

Marianne’s eyes dropped to his stretched out neck, flicking to his eyes to ensure he hadn’t noticed then back to his throat and the incredibly bitable Sternocleidomastoid muscle pronounced beneath his skin at this angle.

_My God what’s wrong with me?!_

She didn’t think anyone was “bitable”, especially her skinny-ass undead employer! Though she was impressed she remembered the name of the muscle in question after pouring over a couple anatomy books ever since Bog started feeding from her. A mental pat on the back for learning a thing or two about anatomy! She didn’t want to be caught off guard on hidden veins and arteries like she had been the second time he bit her.

_How long ago had that been again?_

It had felt like ages since he had bitten her the second time. He had taken blood from her many times over the years since then but they were general, almost clinical in nature whenever he did it. There were no awkward moans on his part and she made sure not to let the little touches he gave that were meant to be comforting through the pain influence anything out of her affection-starved body. It was as casual as coming in to do his make up in the mornings, just not as frequent. Well, except for the touching, however innocent it was meant to be.

Swearing off men did murder on a girl’s libido once she knew she even had one. Thank Roland for that set-back to her celibacy vow, the prick. Marianne knew what it felt like to have sex and so she was introduced to sexual frustration when you boot the source out of your life. With that in mind, she shied away from most physical contact with anyone aside from her family and those were strictly platonic! But when you have a man sinking his teeth into you once or twice a month; it’s hard to convince said libido things aren’t supposed to be heading in that direction. Time only made it worse, not better. Now every time Bog touched her, be it casual or during a feeding, she found that she appreciated it. Even craved it sometimes…

This was a big problem, especially after recent events had revealed why that is.

It was a realization two weeks in the making and Marianne really wished she could find the rewind button to go back and prevent herself from listening to the radio on that particular day. Leaving her CD’s in the apartment after updating her music preferences for the week hadn’t been one of her finest moments but she had shrugged it off and drove to Bog’s with the radio as her backup ambiance. She hadn’t listened to much of it these days but the new batch of one-hit wonders assaulting her ears with staggered beats and impromptu rap spiels were all about the same damn thing. Love. The one thing she didn’t want to hear a catchy tune to.

Looking back, she should have changed the station after the first song but she had stubbornly sat through the line-up during the entire drive. She left her spot on the curb in the town square still completely oblivious to anything that could have been wrong with her situation between her boss and herself. Pulling into Bog’s driveway, however, left Marianne sitting in complete horror behind the wheel as the last song was cut off with the turn of her key.

Love songs had been nothing but babble to her on those rare occasions she heard it since the break up but now, oh boy, now it was relatable. She understood what they were singing about and it scared the living shit out of her that she knew exactly what they were crooning about. Marianne tried to brush it off ever since that day, even drove in silence when she went home after applying Bog’s make-up that morning. She had her music in the car the next morning but, to her horror, when she played the first CD, she realized she had unwittingly downloaded a fresh batch of music that consisted of more love songs! For two weeks she listened to music about unrequited love, broken hearted divas, and men telling stories about how dangerous the women they loved were and yet kept going back for more.  
Somehow that sounded familiar.

_Fuck._

Marianne shook herself with the ferocity of a spasm attack, blinking her eyes rapidly but finding Bog in her line of vision with every bat of the eyelid. She had spaced out completely while still gawking at the pale skin of his neck the entire time! Embarrassed and a little ashamed for her shameful staring, she checked to make sure she was still safe from being caught, tilting her head to the side a bit and risking a glance up towards his eyes.

Thankfully they had fallen shut since she zoned out, leaving neither of them watching Roland’s five or so minutes of screen time every now and then at this point. She silently thanked any prying deities that might have witnessed her stupidity in the past few minutes and breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, being the masochist she was, Marianne couldn’t just leave well enough alone. Her eyes betrayed her sense and while she had resorted to staring down at the couch cushions since catching herself over-staring, they risked another peek.

Marianne’s gaze crawled up the familiar long frame, trying to keep her face schooled in calm neutrality while leaning her weight into the armrest and squeezing the pillow a little tighter to herself. She went from the pointed old man shoes he still wore on to glimpses of white socks peering out from his trousers, up the miles of leg that would give a spider envy and pointedly skipping over the crotch area with a childish aversion of the eyes and an awkward hum before they turned back onto their task. Long torso, thin as a rail but he had wide shoulders. Bog’s body was prime foundation for a good body if he had the chance to build one up in his life. Now that he was dead, well, those muscles were beyond the saving power of protein shakes. Skinny thy name is Bog, but there was strength buried in those bones, no doubt about it.

He shifted a little, wriggling his shoulders into the back of the couch and Marianne’s eyes flicked to his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob up then down with a hard swallow. The gesture put her on alert, her body stiffening but at the same nagging word “bite” wriggled itself back into her mind in those few seconds of lingering on the flex of his throat when he swallowed. His lips curled down a little in discomfort, her attention shifting to his facial expression and seeing that his eyes were pinching tighter shut. She recognized the squeezing of his lids, the downward turn of his mouth, the obvious dryness to his swallows and inability to sit still.

They were signs of the thirst.

 _Oh hell…_ Marianne inwardly groaned, abruptly ducking her head and hunching her shoulders in an effort to make her neck inconspicuous. Unfortunately, she neglected to look away from Bog in her moment of inner panic.

“Marianne?”

She started, nails biting into the pillow, eyes snapping up to meet his. “What?”

“You’re staring at me.” He stated, Marianne stiffening even more—if that was possible—when she realized that even hunkered down, she hadn’t stopped ogling. Even gawking at his throat she hadn’t noticed his eyes opening, the twist of his head to fully look back at her without picking up off the back of the sofa and probably waiting for her to say something up until that moment.

“Staring at you?” she didn’t squeak just now, right? “Why would I be staring at you?”

He quirked an eyebrow, “I was hoping you would tell me.”

“Oh—I was just…” pausing like a dork wasn’t helping! “You’ve—uh—been a little grouchy today so I was wondering…is that time of the month?”

“You would be grouchy too if you saw that someone had broken in your house and overtook your living room.” He pointed out, waving his hand at the television and obvious popcorn bits lying on his living room floor.

“I told you that you needed to find another hiding place for that spare key!” she pointed at him, perking up from her ball at the scent of a challenge. “Besides, I’ve been hanging out here pretty regularly for the last few years; I think I’ve earned enough ‘Employee of the Month’ rewards to get a key of my own by now.”

Bog shook his head, dropping his heels off of the footstool and pushing it back into place before he leaned forward, rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips before he lowered them to his thighs and heaved himself off of the couch. He tugged his shirt straight where it had bunched up against the upholstery while walking around the back of the couch without an explanation as to where he was going.

Marianne dropped her head back, pressing her lips together and narrowing her eyes at him as he paused behind her, her gaze just daring him to contradict her wisdom but he merely huffed through his nose down at her. He didn’t break the stare down when he bent over the back of the couch, her heart jumping into her throat at the sudden close proximity but he bowed completely past her, reaching out and pointedly snatched up the popcorn bowl from the coffee table. Hoisting it over her head, he carried it off towards the kitchen without a word and she sighed, closing her eyes. His gaze was still burned into her retinas. Cerulean blue eyes. Were those even possible in a human being or was it just another unfair vampire thing?

Whatever they are…they’re nice to look at.

 _NOPE!_ Marianne held her hands up in the air and shook her head. _STOP THE FUCKING BUS, I WANT OFF RIGHT NOW!_

Shoving the pillow off her lap, she stepped over the coffee table with some difficulty, grabbing the Windex and paper towels in passing to go clean the screen. While on her feet, she punched the power button on the side of the television, the images of teenage girls panicking over high school drama blinking out of existence while she spritzed the glass with the cleaner. A few passes with two paper towels later and it was clear of any lingering popcorn grease residue, Marianne hanging the Windex by the trigger in her belt loop before stooping to scoop up errant kernels off the floor.

“I am not going to go gaga over a man’s eyes. It’s not happening.” She grumbled to the floor, snatching another bit of starch off the polished hardwood. “Least of all a vampire who hides his fucking spare key in the porch light lid like a moron.”

Wadding up the popcorn into the paper towels, she dropped them into the small trash can in the corner of the living room. She plucked the Windex off her jeans and gave it an experimental twirl but the plastic grated on her finger and she immediately aborted the idea, letting it fall to the coffee table with a dull thunk and the slosh of blue liquid. Checking her finger, she found only a mild scrape, a perforation of dead skin. No blood, thankfully. She didn’t think she could handle Bog getting any ideas on sucking on her finger if it did. Not that he would…would he?

_Goddamn it, woman, will you stop that?!_

“Did you get lost, Bat Man?” she shouted over her shoulder, covering her insane inner scoldings by trying to figure out where he had run off to. “It doesn’t take that long to get rid of a bowl and I know you’re not washing it!”

Bog never did dishes, his logic left him spouting on how he didn’t need dishes to begin with and so she had to take care of her messes. Marianne stocked his kitchen to keep the human fan and happy, it was sort of like keeping your lunch in the break room fridge but you have the security of knowing the other person there wouldn’t eat your food. He never complained about her food choices or the dishes until she left one too many sitting in the sink longer than a day. It was a waste of dish soap, that’s what it was.  
She didn’t have to wait long before Bog was appearing in the doorway again; tipping the contents of a blood bag into his mouth to polish it off and Marianne grimaced. Bog crumpled up the bag after the last of the blood had been drained, glancing up at her while concealing it in his fist.

“I was getting a drink.” He said matter-of-factly, noticing her obvious stare.

She checked his expression but he didn’t seem to look any less sour-faced than usual. “How many did you have?”

“This is my second,” He held up the crinkled plastic briefly before shoving it into his pocket. “I was hoping you would help me out with the rest today but I originally planned on calling you to ask your permission. I didn’t expect you to already be here when I came home.”

“I’m here for your convenience,” she held her arms out at her sides with a shrug of her shoulders. Someone polish an Emmy for her because she was killing this acting thing. Inside she was an utter mess over the idea of giving him a dose tonight after the number of places her mind had gone to today but on the outside she was practically normal. If she could just keep it up…

“Alright, go ahead and sit down then.” He indicated the couch and she went, choosing the center of the sofa where she plopped down and pulled her feet up. Holding onto her ankles, she tilted her head back to peer over at him as he came closer, hands settling over the top of the couch on either side of her. She offered him a smile, cool as a cucumber. Huzzah for lying one’s ass off successfully! “Where are you comfortable with it today?”

Reaching up and over herself, she brushed what little hair there was away and exposed the side of her neck. Her heart sped up a little at the suggestion; she was, after all, supposed to be avoiding such intimacies like this right now. Moments ago she had been worried about him sucking on her finger and now here she was offering up her neck? Yeah, really smart choice, but one that was not entirely fueled by a dumb choice. In spite of all the mental arguments, Marianne couldn’t deny that she wanted that closeness she felt whenever he bit her neck. The arm and wrist were so impersonal, the neck, well, it was a friend’s spot, a spot offered up in trust.

“Very well,” he conceded, leaning down, and folding his arms over the back of the couch.

It was a common procedure, his arms either folded or bracing her shoulders on particularly painful days, but it was also clinically cold and Marianne silently wished he would give her the barest of graces by just touching her with some form of affection. He had no qualms with elbowing her, flicking her nose, pinching her ear, patting her shoulder or touching her hair in those rare, quiet moments where no outside influences mattered, just two friends and their platonic relationship that left them completely comfortable with one another. What’s a little touch on the cheek or a caress of her skin here and there while sucking blood out of her artery?  
That’s all she wanted through all the panicked denial.

Peeking up at him, she noticed that he was watching her neck now, her fingers itching to touch at it and see what it was he was staring at but she already knew. It was the same look she would lay on a Milky Way right now. His lips parted and Marianne’s heart rate spurred into a full on gallop at the sight of the fangs peering through. She instantly remembered the pain those suckers could deal on a person and shuddered, her confidence bottoming out the closer he got even though the pain wasn’t what scared her so much as the close proximity of the lips that belonged to it. She needed time, just enough to compose herself!

_Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink!_

Her hands immediately jumped up, slapping against the sides of his face with audible claps.

“Ow!” he tried to pull away but she managed to get an eyeful of his mouth in the midst of that brief exclamation.

“Aw-gross! Is that blood on your teeth?” she gagged at the red in between his teeth and staining them with a dark sheen of lingering blood from his bag supply.

“I just drank—“

“Ew!” she cut him off abruptly, folding her arms across her chest while he straightened up to his full height again, brows furrowed at her rude interruption. Her palms tingled from the prickle of stubble on his jaw and she curled her fingers in tighter. “You’ve got someone else’s cooties on your fangs. I don’t want those in me!” Her hands cupped over her neck protectively. “Go brush your teeth!”

“This is ridiculous!” he groaned towards the ceiling but surely enough he turned around and stalked out of the room again, making sure she could hear him trudge up the stairs with heavy footsteps that left her smiling to herself at his utterly childish behavior.

With Bog out of the room again, Marianne slumped over, tucking her legs up onto the couch and pressing her face into the cushion with a groan. This wasn’t supposed to be a part of her live, falling for someone even though she had made a firm statement to herself that it would never happen again. When she had talked with her dad about it on a very brief occasion, she had conceded to one day thinking about it but at that point her bubble had been popped and she was still disillusioned by the idea of love.

If she hadn’t met Bog, she was absolutely positive she would have cried over Roland, gotten over it, and—who knows—joined a motorcycle gang or something. Maybe take up a sport as a hobby, study kickboxing. The world had been her oyster in those few minutes she had wasted moping outside of Fairview Studios. Had she kicked herself in the ass and left her mope spot a few minutes sooner, Bog never would have appeared before her. But the damn mother sucker did and she was stuck with the after effects. Damn vampires and their uncanny timing! She could have been some badass by now but noooooo, she had to work every damn day staring into his pointy face until she knew it as well by touch as she did by sight.

Even if she suddenly went blind, she would know Bog’s face by touch alone.

Reaching up, she grasped the back cushion and pulled herself up, folding her arm over it and dropping her chin upon the limb, peering through the doorway into the hall. Shutting her eyes, she stewed in her own thoughts, sighing through her nose while sorting out the unwanted feelings, the unspoken desires, anything to do with Bog and something unrelated to what friends should be. That was the important feeling to want, desire, and imagine living through with him. Friendship could hurt, but not so deep of a wound as that of love could inflict. She knew from personal experience on that account.

Marianne’s solitude aided in reclaiming some sense of self again, her stress over unwanted affections subdued to the point of her almost feeling normal. She held her eyes shut, breathing in steadily and letting it out, turning her cheek to press into her sleeve and smelling traces of her laundry detergent deep in the material. The smell of Gain was normalcy. It was a reminder of home, safety from the risk of these fluttering sensations. Her disquieted shift turned into a tickle at her neck and she ran her fingers over the spot to find the source.

The bump of a familiar chain reminded her of what was being worn under her shirt, motivating her to lift her head from her sleeve, tucking in her chin to the point where she probably sported a very lovely double-chin when she fished the necklace out from beneath her collar. The chain clinked with a tiny sound and the pendant swung free, twirling on its twisted loop until it hung straight, resting on her fingertips when she propped it up to get a peek at the jewelry still attached to her neck.

The butterfly shimmered up at her, purple gems still radiant in the wings and tiny rhinestones glimmering even in the dim lighting of the living room’s lamp. The metal was warm from where the butterfly once rest against her skin, the only jewelry she wore with constancy fueled by the of nostalgia of her first present from her boss. At least, that’s what it had started out to be the reason for wearing it so often. Her thumb brushed over it, vague shapes of her fingerprints left in the shine but she dropped it back down her collar the moment she heard the distant footsteps back down the hallway.

Bog came back with the usual supplies in his hands while she righted her shirt collar. His face was torn between exhaustion and annoyance when he observed the supplies in his hands, checking over his mental list of what was needed. Stopping behind the sofa, he dropped them onto the cushion beside her and Marianne pulled herself up onto her knees on the seat. She quickly slipped back into the comforts of normalcy, giving him a critical look before beckoning him down with her finger. “Okay, Bat Man, let’s see them.”

He opened his mouth, eyes watching her with clear irritation but at least he was compliant. Marianne could see that his fangs were still fully erect, even though he had been put off from instant gratification. The ghost of the pain of his bite came back vague in her neck and she rolled her shoulders with a little clearing of her throat, pushing the phantom pain away. With her hands on his cheeks, she used her thumbs to push his lips up and out, forcing awkward expressions on her boss’s face with a smug expression in her silent enjoyment and there he stood, tolerating it even though one look in his face and he was practically seething. Her thumbs traced his lower lip and her amusement faltered at the unconscious gesture.

How many times had she wanted to do something like that to someone’s mouth before kissing it? Roland didn’t like her hands on his face. He was worried about the oils in her hands clogging his pores so she never had the opportunity to do such a thing with him and here she was just goofing off with Bog’s face and managed to do it out of the blue. Her hands were acting on their own, performing the simple yet desired gesture so easily. Marianne’s mouth felt a little dry and she tried to swallow, attempting to cover up the awkward pause by pushing his bottom lip down to expose his lower teeth and gums.

“Alright, you’re good to go.” She pulled her hands away, Bog’s fingers rubbing at his mouth from the stretch she had put it through while she turned around and plopped back down onto the seat. “Lay it on me!”

“Your lack of concern for this is a little unsettling,” he murmured, but she felt him leaning down, the slightest dip of the cushion at her back from his arm, then there he was hovering nearly ear level to her.

“It’s all part of the routine.” She stated, though she turned it into a mantra to inwardly chant the moment she felt how close he was getting to her.

_It’s part of the routine…_

Marianne tilted her head back, stretching out her neck for him and took a deep breath in then letting it out on a long exhale. Breathing was a good way to keep calm, to brace for the incoming pain. There was a scent of spearmint toothpaste and she couldn’t resist the little smile when she smelled it, huffing out the rest of her breath on a sight and rolling her shoulders to relax. The urge to hum nearly forced an impromptu tune in her throat but she swallowed it down when there was an unmistakable brush of lips against her skin. She puzzled over the change in his approach, typically open mouthed with teeth at the ready but this time his lips were only slightly parted, brushing along as if seeking out the proper place. She felt his lips linger in the intended spot then they spread open wide and the tips of his canines began to press down over their intended target.

She nearly forgot to keep breathing when he finally bit. His teeth gauged their position and then he clamped down abruptly, forcing his fangs through the mouthful of skin and Marianne’s nails dug into her ankle she was holding onto for dear life but it wasn’t nearly as painful as the canines in her neck. She gasped for the air she had neglected to breathe earlier and her body jolted from the back of the couch, spurred by the fight or flight instinct. She wanted to run and punch him at the same time but his hands descended onto her shoulders, holding her down in her spot to prevent her from hurting herself. If he hadn’t, those two little puncture wounds would probably have become two very bloody gashes.

_It’s all part of the routine!_

Bog’s teeth eased up to let the blood flow, the bite force a mere lingering presence against her traumatized flesh as it rushed to the surface, her pain-induced speeding heartbeat helping it along to reach him faster and he readily drank it down. It was old hat from this moment on, once the initial bite was complete. He would let the blood come to him, he would drink it, and when he had enough he would bandage her up then let her chill out for thirty minutes before checking to see if it was safe for her to move.  
Opening her eyes a little, she observed the mossy green paint on the wall below the dark wood of the crown molding, original to the house as Dawn pointed out once. Further down she spotted the television and almost wished she hadn’t turned it off. TV was a helpful distraction whenever he fed off of her. The pictures and sound held her attention through the pain and uncomfortable fact that she couldn’t move until he was finished. Now she was stuck with a blank screen with only her own painful breathing and the muted swallows that broke in between each breath. Well, at least it was a clean blank screen. Marianne admired her handiwork, trying to keep her mind off of the burn and sting. Her eyes opened a little wider but then they nearly bugged out of her head when she saw that the glass was perfectly reflective!

It was vague, like watching a colorless old film but she could see her sitting there on the couch and Bog’s head bowed over her neck. For years she knew this pose, along with a few other variations of it but she had never actually seen what it looked like herself. It was always a first person experience, never near a mirror or anything. She just felt it. The sight of him there, mouth on her neck with the smallest of movements after every careful pull he took on her blood…it almost looked like something completely different.

Had anyone else looked in that television, it almost looked as tender as a lover kissing his partner’s neck.

The reflection made her imagination stray into the realm she had worked so hard to dig herself out of moments earlier. Several “what if” scenarios fitted into place, Marianne blinking almost lazily at the image as she watched him swallow with only a jostle of his head in the image. The suggestive visual created a creeping warmth low in her belly, a little too low to be safe. She immediately shut her eyes from the damning reflection but the damage was already done. She was left to the mercy of feeling the wrong things. The flex of his lips, the gentle nudge of his tongue to keep the blood flowing…

_It’s…routine…_

Marianne’s hands released her ankles, her left hand slowly rising higher. Her fingers hesitated but then they lightly touched his temple. Swallowing, she trailed her fingers along the skin she found there, brushing the edge of his hairline. She lingered on the contrast between cool skin and the texture of his hair, slipping the digits into the strands with a slow glide and Bog fell still. He was aware of her touch now and she silently hoped that he would break away but her heart ached with a ferocity that left her nearly wrecked by the idea. Marianne ignored the hope, rubbing gentle fingers through the thickness of his hair and into his scalp, turning it into small circles with just the tips to coax him back into his task. Bog cautiously removed his fangs from the punctures, licking over them with a stinging swipe against the injured flesh and tender muscle but Marianne felt oddly numb to it while her hand worked into his hair. All of her focus was on the slow glide of his tongue on her skin and the circling of her fingers.

With her hand stroking him, fingers shifting between little circles with the pads of her digits to the careful scratch of nails, she felt him continue feeding after his moment of uncertainty. She could still feel the pain of the bite even without his fangs digging into her, a constant ache understated by the odd randiness that was seemingly overpowering her other senses. Bog’s hand on her right shoulder started to trail down her arm, his fingers tense at first but then relaxing the further they trailed down her sleeve then dragged back up in a stroke of his own to match her petting fingers. The gesture inspired another flare of want, her feet easing to the floor but she pressed her thighs together, hoping against hope she wasn’t getting turned on by this.

Both of Bog’s hands rubbed up and down her arms now and she gasped a staggered breath, head tilting back further and it was sweet music to her ears when he hummed low in his throat mid-drink. Sweet mercy he was feeling it too, wasn’t he? Marianne opened her eyes, fingers eagerly manipulating through his hair until she gently tugged on the strands with the next sweep of her hand. His mouth lifted with a huff of blood-warmed hot breath on her neck and she melted, hand cupping against the back of his head, attempting to turn her own to look into his face and see if her suspicions were correct.

His hand suddenly clamped over her neck wound, his other hand firmly back on her shoulder and Marianne nearly barked out a cruse when he straightened up, his face gone and hands suddenly focused on keeping her at arm’s length. Bog cleared his throat and Marianne held her head stiffly upright, swallowing and trying to blink away the lusty haze.

“H-Han’ me the cotton balls,” His voice was thick but his hand on her shoulder lifted, palm up. She felt for them at her side, fingers blindly searching the cushion until she finally felt them. Marianne slapped them into his hand and dragged the bandages closer while he staunched the flow from his bite marks. She opened the alcohol pad for him and handed it over once he removed the cotton. After the sting of his careful cleaning was complete, Bog applied the bandage with oddly jittery fingers. Marianne had to press the adhesive strips down more securely herself, his hands gone when it was barely applied for the sake of gathering up the bits of trash.

She risked a peek to look up at him where he was still wadding them up in his fingers, his hair a wild mess from her fingers and his lips pressed tightly together, focused all too intently on his task. The tension in his brow and the way he looked at trash like it was some kind of safety net made Marianne wonder just how deep in shit she really was with him at this point. Her neck throbbed from craning back to look at him and she cupped her hand over the bite. Eventually it would bruise and she would have to dig out the scarves and dreadful turtlenecks again. She deserved an ugly sweater for the state she had let herself get into, her hormones thankfully having calmed down at last but that ache still tingled in the unmentionables and she flushed with embarrassment.

“Um, I should finish cleaning up after myself.” She murmured, scooting forward to stand but his hand lay over her shoulder again and she froze, glancing over at his tense fingers then up his arm to his face.

“Stay down,” he insisted, his gaze sincere through his awkwardness. “Just…until you’ve had time to recover, alright?”

“Fine, but…” she pressed her lips together, not wanting to face the music and mention what had just happened between them. It was her fault for getting so hot and bothered from something that started out so damn painful. She really was a masochist! She looked around the living room and eventually spotted the pile of DVDs still unloaded on the shelf beneath the television and the idea struck like being shot in the forehead by a diamond. “Hey, let’s just finish this season of High School Heartbreak and see how many ways we can slam Roland before it jumps back to the menu screen.”

Bog’s amusement was sudden and contained with a sharp exhale through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting as he nodded his head. Marianne scooted herself over to her spot on the end while he came around and sat on his. She knew that they wouldn’t be in the same mood they had been in before. The air between them still felt charged with that unresolved tension and Bog was stiffer than his shirt collar when he sat down, back barely against the cushion and one arm propped on the rest with fingers clenched in a fist. Marianne didn’t point out that he still had the bloodied cotton balls or the bandage trash in that hand. It was worrisome enough just seeing him rigid as steel after his previously slouch before this whole blood thing happened.

Marianne dragged the remote towards her, hauling her legs up to tuck against her and assuming her pillow shield again, wrapping an arm around it and pointing the remote at the black screen. This time the reflection was nowhere near as intimate. Two people sitting as far apart from one another as a three-seater couch would allow, their bodies unconsciously angled away but Marianne noticed Bog’s head turn, his gaze falling on her thoughtfully but then pointedly looking ahead in the span of one of her heart beats. He was coming to a conclusion on something and she felt like she already knew what it was.

_He’s never going to bite me again._

She hit the power button and the screen came to life, their images erased from view and replaced by the glow of Roland’s thousand-watt smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on the fence on how I feel about this chapter...I'll leave it up to you guys to decide whether you liked it or not.


	8. Sidekick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're jumping WAY ahead in Marianne and Bog's working relationship. There's mentions of stuff that will happen in different one-shots here but I wanted to make SOMETHING for Strange Magic Week on tumblr. So...yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I wrote a kissing scene. >

“These superhero films have been trending for years now. I’m amazed they are still as popular as they are.” Bog stated, following Marianne out of the theater. For a moment he thought he had caught up and would walk with her back outside but noticed she had suddenly fallen behind and paused. Looking around, he found her at last and resisted a smirk when he saw that she was trying to cram as much leftover popcorn into her mouth while half-hovering over the trash can outside of the theater door. He waited for her to finish, her eyes darting to him and realizing he had been watching this whole time. They popped a bit before she smiled around a mouthful of generously buttered starch, shoulders shrugging as if to say ‘I can’t help it.’

Eventually she had enough, washing the last mouthful down with a long draw of leftover melted ice from what used to be her coke and making a face when she swallowed. Marianne then dumped the popcorn bucket and cup into the trashcan, wiping her hands off on her jeans much to his distaste. She noticed the way he sneered at the poor replacement for a napkin and braced a hand on her hip with a sigh. Marianne reached up with a finger, giving the hook of her 3-D glasses a little nudge so that they dropped from the crown of her head to her nose again. As soon as they hit the bridge, she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Deal with it.”

Bog scoffed at her internet reference, raising his eyebrows and his own glasses dropped down over his eyes, much to her annoyance. More than once when he had worn actual sunglasses he had mastered the gesture and Marianne continued to have issues trying to make it work without the glasses falling past her nose and he lost a few pairs of sunglasses due to her throwing them at the wall in frustration when she still couldn’t get it down. Now the pair of them were standing in the middle of movie theater hallway, wearing their 3D glasses like a pair of fools and probably looking even more so. Bog was still in his disguise even though the colder weather had given him simpler solutions to concealing himself from the public but Marianne still painstakingly applied the old age make-up to him and they put it to good use that day. The entire day it looked like an old man and arguably his daughter or granddaughter spending time together that resulted in many a sappy expression given their way and no shortage of affectionate noises made by strangers in passing.

Marianne had played the part perfectly by simply being herself. She had dragged him through the gray afternoon to the park where he sat with her at one of the chess tables and played a game that turned into more of an argument over whose moves were more strategic than the other’s. The game went on for hours because of their matching stubbornness, Marianne eventually throwing her captured queen at him and Bog sweeping the rest of the pieces off of the board with an angry strike that left them both staring down at the empty squares and realizing how foolish they may have looked. They sheepishly picked up the pieces and set them all up into start position before ducking out of the park.

They went to the grocery store to pick up more of Marianne’s retro Coca-Cola and a few other snacks to feed the human whenever she came by. Bog grumbled when he ended up paying for it, the cashier looking between them with the same indulging smile that he had seen ever since they had started this arrangement. Marianne often teased him about being her sugar daddy whenever the stares turned disapproving. That was what people do when the cutesy theories run dry; they make the wrong assumptions just to pass their judgment on others. It looked like this occasion was just another father-daughter run scenario, which was fine by him, it wasn’t so damaging to his ego as whenever people mistook him for her grandfather, though he was honestly old enough to be a three times great grandfather to the oldest human in the world. Still, being pointed out as “old” sometimes stung. Just a wee bit. The cashier started giggling when Marianne suddenly linked her arm in his with a sickeningly sweet smile flashed up at him in the middle of thumbing through his wallet to pay. He raised an eyebrow at her, suspicious and barely had the money out when her eyes turned devious in spite of that deceptively sweet smile. Bog grew wary then, not looking away when he passed the money to the cashier and Marianne grinned, her eyes wicked.

“Thanks, graaaaaaandpa!”

Bog pressed his lips together tightly, glaring down at her as he puffed up a little, snatching back his change from the smiling young woman and jamming it into his pocket while slipping his arm out of her grip.

“Carry your own groceries, brat!” he snarled.

Marianne gave the cashier a toothy grin as she gathered her bags. “He’s so grouchy today! Maybe it’s nap time?”

“Marianne!” he shouted back, already waiting for her at the door and she half jogged to catch up, grinning at him with her tongue sticking between her teeth.

He made her carry the supplies back to her car herself and rode in brooding silence while she laughed; pounding her fist on the steering wheel when they headed to the theater next for the six o’clock showing of a superhero film Marianne had been pestering him about wanting to see. He had agreed that morning to go see it with her because she was lamenting how her younger sister Dawn had ditched her in favor of a date that night. Judging by the smirk on her face after he had told her he would go, that had been her plan all along.

Now there they were, goofing off with 3D glasses and Bog barely remembering a single thing about the movie they had just watched. If someone were to ask him about it, all he could contribute was that there were explosions. Not helpful when most movies had explosions these days. He had been paying attention, that wasn’t the problem. He and Marianne always paid attention to films when they watched together, but they also were those annoying people who commented back and forth then laughed too loud at the funny bits. Bog never caused so much ruckus in a theater or in his own home before Marianne. However, the first time he watched a movie with her, he constantly hissed at her to be quiet but an hour into the film he discovered it was a lost cause and ended up acknowledging her remarks, contributing some of his own and by then he was ruined for the rest of eternity.

“It’s time to head home, Marianne.” He reminded her, removing the glasses and shuffling out into the lobby to deposit them into the recycling bin beside the exit doors.

“Fine,” she sighed, swiping hers off and dropping them into the slot. “I’ll take the snacks back to your place tomorrow morning.”

He nodded, watching her button her coat up to her throat and hunching her shoulders, eyes focused on the night beyond the glass doors. The stubborn pout to her lips at the concept of walking out into the cold was endearing. Marianne despised winter, which was why she chose Southern California as her home and yet this year had brought in below-average temperatures that left her bitterly cursing the weather every morning she showed up for work.

Bog pushed open the door, feeling the breath of the winter chill spill into the well-heated lobby. Marianne groaned, following him outside with her hands buried deep in her pockets and he waited for her to get around the door, letting it swing shut once she was out of the way. Marianne’s previous good humor was shot by the cold, her eyes moving up to the dark sky and shutting, teeth clenched as she stomped her feet.

“I’m going home and laying on my radiator. I don’t care if it falls over again!” she snarled at the cold air, Bog chuckling. He remembered the story of her trying to become close and personal with her radiator and as a result, it had fallen over, disconnecting from the wall and giving her a good bruise on her outer thigh that she described to him in full detail the next morning.

Over the last three years, Bog had been generous in paying Marianne for her services as his make-up artist and his impromptu housekeeper but somehow it still wasn’t enough to put her in a better apartment than the studio she was staying in now. California’s rent was expensive and while she had saved up to finally get her car she wanted so badly, Bog was left wondering if he had been stingy if the state of her living space had anything to say about it. Marianne lived in conditions suitable for a broke college student from what he’d seen. It was a small space but with the high ceilings and old structure of the building, it was impossible to keep heated with a single radiator.

She fished her keys out of her pocket and started to head to her car. Bog lingering behind since he intended to walk home rather than make her drive back and forth to bring him home. He waited for her to get to the car, keeping a watchful eye over her even though she constantly reminded him she could take care of herself. Sue him. He wanted to make sure she was safe. Marianne hesitated, her feet slowing on the sidewalk and Bog raised an eyebrow when she turned around again.

For a moment he saw a strange expression on her face, thoughtful and hesitant. She was biting her lower lip, eyes lingering on the ground even when she faced him. Marianne looked like she wanted to say something but when she picked her head up; she released her lower lip and gave him a half smile, raising her hand up in a short wave to act as her goodbye. With the casual wave, he moved to return it, pausing when she ducked her head down a bit, her bangs slipping into her eyes. He noticed the falter of her smile then.

Something was wrong.

“You know…” his hand lowered a little, fingers curling in until he forced them into his pocket. Marianne immediately picked her head up, almost looking hopeful until she concealed it with a more subtle curiosity. “My heat is wasted on me back at the house. Why don’t you stay there tonight?”

“I can leech off of you for once?” she asked with a hopeful spark in her eyes.

He rolled his eyes, “You’ve been leeching off of me. Do you want to use my heater or not?”

“Definitely!” Marianne confirmed, nodding to the car. “Come on, gramps, I’ll drive since we’re heading to the same place now.”

“Damn it, woman! I’m not your gramps, not your pops! I’m not your _anything_!” he snapped, watching her snicker and put her back to him, leading the way to her car.

\------------

_I’m not your anything!_

Marianne’s hands felt tense on the steering wheel when she drove to Bog’s house. It might have been the cold making her joints lock up and having all of the car’s vents directing the heater’s air on them didn’t seem to help. He was quiet in the passenger’s seat, head back on the headrest with his eyes closed, listening to the music she had playing through the stereo. He did that when she drove. Sat back, listening to whatever came out of the speakers and really listened to it. She never asked him what he thought because she knew how blunt he could be, but a part of her was curious if he liked it. If he found the hidden meaning in the lyrics she gradually slipped into her playlists whenever he was riding along. But no love songs!

By now love songs were overrated. She hated love songs with a passion ever since she had drowned herself in them during her engagement to Roland. All of them thankfully no longer made sense; they were foreign languages when she heard them on the speakers in the mall or on the radio. Then, all of a sudden, they were beginning to make sense again and it scared her at first. Marianne didn’t know who had suddenly translated everything for her again, the words on the thrill and heartache of being in love was supposed to be a dead language and yet there it was, plain as day. She hadn’t met anyone to inspire affection, she didn’t want to meet anyone to risk such feelings again.

Then it was clear.

The same day she had her heart ripped out, she met this infuriating bat man while slumped outside the gates of Fairview Studios. He was grouchy, rude, and cold but he still took her to the bar. He opened the bar tab. He even took her home with him but only to give her a bed to crash on rather than leaving her to rot on the women’s bathroom floor where she had collapsed that night. Bog gave her a job; he gave her companionship when she wanted to rag on Roland’s horrible acting during hate marathons spent on his couch on boring afternoons. He bantered with her, called her a lousy chess player, and still laughed with her over sappy love scenes that permeated films that always thought they needed a love element added into the mix.

Son of a bitch...Marianne had fallen for a blood sucking, shadow thumping vampire she had to make-up into an old man every day!

Her fingers tightened on the wheel even more as the memory of her epiphany struck her full force. So far she had handled the realization like a champion. Marianne still showed up at wing man’s house on time every morning, she was still the master at concealing his immortal face beneath latex and make-up, and she still hated physical contact unless it was used to drive someone else up the wall. Mainly him. Not that she was thinking about him and walls…or herself against walls for that matter because, face it, she wasn’t going to be the wilting flower being pushed around when it came to the art of face-sucking that Roland still held the title for in her limited experience.

Would Bog be a good kisser?

Her hands involuntarily jerked on the wheel and she swore, Bog’s head jerking up from the headrest. An arm instinctively flew out across her chest as if to shield her and she nearly lost it then, feeling his fingers against her sleeve and wrist barely brushing her breast. It was a move to protect her and by God she was ready to crash the car on purpose if that meant he would keep his arm there. Bonehead thought there, Marianne! She wasn’t that stupid! Her heart hammered in her chest as she evened them out and he retracted his arm, shifting to sit upright in his seat. The absence of his arm was sorely missed.

“What happened?” his voice was rough from his previous stasis and she inwardly groaned at the sound of it.

“There was a raccoon.” She shook her head, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “Damn thing was wondering out into the street!”

He sighed, “I hate raccoons.”

Marianne nodded stiffly, waiting for him to settle back down. They didn’t have long and she dreaded him being alert the rest of the way but he eventually laid his head back again. Marianne reached for the volume and eased it up a little more to cover the thundering of her heart in her chest. She heard him sigh again, easing himself back into the music, her hands still stiff but she was more careful to keep them in control. Unfortunately keeping one’s hands busy was easy when driving. It was the mind that tended to drift and hers was definitely going down the wrong road.

She could still feel his arm against her when she steered the car through the darkened streets of the familiar neighborhood surrounding Bog’s home. The house on the hill soon loomed before her as she pulled into the driveway, parking it with almost robotic movements and turning it off with stiff fingers. Bog lifted his head at the sudden cut off of the music and spotted his home through the windshield. He didn’t say anything when he climbed out of the car, shutting the door after him but instead of making her carry her groceries again; he retrieved them out of the backseat before she even managed to unfasten her seat belt.

Damn him for his thoughtful gestures whenever she really didn’t need them. Her heart was still feeling fluttery when she climbed out of the car, following him to the front porch and hesitating on the wooden paneling when he unlocked the door. He went inside and held the door open with his body, giving her a chance to enter after him. She ducked inside, noticing that the air was warmer but not much different from the winter night still outside. She hunched her shoulders again, glaring at him and he shook his head.

“The thermostat is in the hallway, remember?” he pointed down the passageway. “I’m going to go remove this make up; you can fiddle with it until you’re happy with the temperature and warm up.”

“Thanks, boss!” she piped up, probably a pitch higher than she wanted to sound but she covered it up by practically running down the hallway. She sought out the thermostat while he went upstairs, his footsteps mere whispers until there was no trace of them at all and she sagged into the wall with a sigh of relief.

Now that she was alone, Marianne distracted herself with the thermostat. The man had it set at fifty five degrees! She cranked the dial for the higher temperatures immediately, shooting for the seventies and thanked the heavens when she heard the furnace switch on. The low hum of it and the hot air finally blowing through the vents left her sighing in relief, going to the living room and snagging a blanket from the back of his couch, wrapping it around herself and returning to the hallway, picking up her snacks from where Bog had left them on the floor to bring them into the kitchen.

Flipping the lights on, Marianne took in the small but efficient kitchen. Bog had no use for a kitchen and aside from a few glasses in the cabinets; there wasn’t a single dish in the place until she had come along. Marianne stocked it up with some dishes from her apartment, a pot and a pan for any cooking she might have done for her lunch and some utensils from the dollar store to keep in the silverware drawer. The fridge was another story. Bog kept a supply of blood in the fridge for himself whenever he didn’t feel like going out to feed and she had to get used to the blood bags, eventually moving them to the top shelf while she took over the rest of the fridge to stock up with her coke, sandwich meats and condiments along with other simple necessities to keep the human fed and happy.

She trudged around the kitchen still in her coat and the blanket slung over her, picking up her coke and sticking it in the fridge while finding homes for her snacks in her designated cabinet. The heater worked its magic through her progress, Marianne eventually risking losing the blanket and her coat, slinging them over chairs while she sipped on her last cold cola, leaning into the counter where she stood over one of the vents, letting the heat blow up through her pant legs.

Bog came into the kitchen, Marianne glancing up and seeing his preserved thin face exposed again at last. His skin was a little irritated from the glue but that was only because he ripped the prosthetics off rather than using the remover she gave him and it made her snicker when she saw the vague outlines of where there had once been patches of wrinkles. He plucked up the plastic bags she had abandoned on the floor while unpacking the groceries, balling them in his hands as he went to the sack hanging from the pantry doorknob and stuffing them inside.

When he looked at her and where she was standing, he chuckled. “Better?”

“Much better.” She agreed with a sigh. “My radiator has nothing on this.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat, hands seeming uncertain of where to go until he stuck them into his pockets. “Uh, I managed to check on that guest room you’re familiar with before I came down. I know you don’t have any clothes here so I left one of my shirts in there if you wanted something else to sleep in.”

Oh boy...

“Thanks, Bogman.” She tried to smile as if she hadn’t just thought of that. Think like Dawn, think like Dawn, think like innocent-fucking Dawn!

“Sure,” there he went with those single-worded answers. Something was off here. Bog could be minimal with words but the single-worded ones like this were usually saved for when he was angry or feeling awkward as hell. Her money was on the latter because his face wasn’t remotely angry and he had nothing to be angry about aside from the little grandpa jokes she had made previously.

Marianne observed him, his typically erect posture that followed post Old Man Bog was missing, shoulders still a little hunched, bringing his height down a notch. His expression was thoughtful, edgy with hesitation and she didn’t understand why. He had been the one to suggest she come here to use his heat. Maybe he was regretting it because it was night now and she hadn’t stayed that late since he brought her home drunk?

“Are you afraid you’re going to attack me in my sleep?” she asked, putting it out in the open so that they could kick the elephant out of the room.

“No,” he pulled his hands out of his pockets, holding them up as he shook his head. “No, I just—”

“We both know it wouldn’t be the first time I donated a little blood to the cause, Bog.” She snickered, sounding way more casual than she actually felt. Oh yeah she remembered that first little nip and it had been painful, yes, but it also left Marianne blushing up a storm because of the rather salacious moan that he was latched to her neck. It was just her blood, something her body made and circulated to keep her alive and yet he had treated it like she had been a heaping helping of death by chocolate ice cream after a long diet spell.

The next time it happened, she had been the one to moan and he abruptly stopped, awkwardly apologizing and sending her home shortly afterward. The time after that, she managed to behave herself and sat completely still while he took a few pulls on her neck, casual as all fuck. Handfuls of shifts she ended up sitting on the couch, letting him lean over the back and take a bit of blood with a coke for all her trouble. It was almost normal until she had her rude awakening to the fact she had started to fall for him. That was the last time he fed from her because Marianne had not only moaned at his lips on her neck, she had started to thread her fingers into his hair, melting into the couch when he made a low sound in his throat at her touch. She squirmed on the couch and he pulled away, eyes wide and hair wild from where she had been running her hand through it.

He hasn’t taken blood from her since and maybe that was why he was nervous having her in the house now.

“You’re not hungry now, are you?” she asked, cautiously stepping towards him.

“No!” he jerked back, bumping into the pantry door. “I’m fine!”

“Well you do have something on your face, let me see.” She huffed, approaching him and he eased away from the pantry, leaning down for her to take a look. Bog learned early on to always listen to his make-up artist when it came to his face. That was where she had the advantage in so many ways.

On his temple was a trace of latex still attached to his skin. Marianne pinched at it, carefully pulling it off and looking down at the pale scrap with a frown. “You ripped your prosthetic!” she scolded, glaring up at him. “I told you to use the remov—“

She didn’t get the chance to finish her rant because she was well and thoroughly occupied with the sudden presence of lips slanting over hers. It was quick. Too quick before Bog’s little kiss was over. He drew back sharply, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. He brushed past her while she stood there, still in shock of what had just happened. Marianne needed to smack herself to snap out of it, whirling around to follow him but tripping on the leg of one of the chairs for all her trouble.

Crashing to the floor, Marianne smacked her nose on the linoleum. “SHIIIIT!” she rolled over onto her back, kicking at the chair and knocking it over to smack the floor as well while her hands jumped to her nose, sandwiching it between her fingers. Bog was back, rounding her and kneeling on the floor to check on her.

“Damn it, Marianne, what happened?” his previous awkwardness was gone, replaced by worry and irritation that was probably more focused on him than her. Good. Asshole should be mad at himself if he was going to go with that little peck and expect to just walk away from it!

“Your chair tripped me!” she snapped, her voice muffled by her hands still over her face.

“Let me see.” He pried her hands away from her nose and she glared up at him through watering eyes. She didn’t want to cry, she wouldn’t cry! But slamming your nose into a floor was no picnic and she couldn’t stop her eyes from tearing up no matter how strong her willpower was. Bog loomed over her as she tilted her head back to check it under the kitchen light, squinting and turning her head left then right until he was satisfied. He pinched her tender nose with gentle fingers and she winced but didn’t feel anything shift or hear a crunch, thankfully.

He sighed with relief, “It’s not broken. You’ll be fine, Tough Girl.”

She nodded, slumping back onto the floor with a huff. What a way to ruin a first kiss with her boss. Go and trip over a chair and nearly break your nose in the process. Only, she did get to feel his fingers on her face, gentle and prodding while he smoothed her bangs from her face, checking for any other bumps or bruises. Marianne sought out his hands, slipping hers over his wrists and pulling them away from her face. He peered down at her as she let go, her hands finding their way to his face instead, palms slipping along the rough scrape of stubble. Bog’s hands braced over her, one on either side of her as she drew him down closer, fingers trailing along his jaw until they slipped around to the back of his head. With a tug, she pulled him to her, lifting her head at the same time and kissing him herself. This time she was going to make it last!

He seemed to be okay with that because she felt him sagging over her, his body nearly lying on top of her while she kissed him, manipulating his lips to part for her with each careful kiss and comforting stroke of her fingers in his hair with one hand and the other wrapping around his back, nails digging into him possessively the moment his tongue finally responded with a slow glide along hers that shot right to the unmentionables. He kissed her back now, his previous hesitation abandoned at last and she saw fucking rainbows and sparkly-ass unicorns.

Fabulous!


	9. Brittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This shows what happened after "Sidekick."  
> Marianne is kind of a mess.  
> Bog is digging himself a hole that he needs to crawl out of.

Whoever wrote the on-going scenario where the heroine kisses her man she’s been craving like so much chocolate the entire book/movie and it all turns into heart-wrenching declarations of love leading up to mind-blowing sex on the nearest flat surface needed to be shot. Like, fifty caliber bullet to the _face_ shot, because if that was what was supposed to happen, Marianne had been fucking gypped!

The movie was great, the heater was even greater after being a meat popsicle for the majority of the day, but then Bog had to go and throw on that straw that broke the camel’s back with that brief kiss of his. Months of dancing around the fact she loved the awkward mosquito and then he went and planted one on her. At first she had been in shock because she never thought it was going to happen, let alone he being the initiator, but then she was all ahead full sail and tracking him down to demand a do-over. She was pounding the reset button in her mind when she had tripped over that damn chair and it had all gone to pot. If Bog hadn’t been the worst vampire in the history of brooding vampire lore because his heart was as squishy as a Beanie Baby, she never would have been well and thoroughly kissed on that kitchen floor. Man that had been some kiss too. Bog King-of-suck-face-ston, that’s what she would have called him if things had progressed to a more desirable conclusion that night. But it didn’t.

_She came up for air, gasping and boneless on the floor. Marianne had practically turned into a puddle—put a wet floor sign next to her because people were in danger of slipping on her—kind of puddle and still hovering over her, Bog had suddenly gone stiff. It was a very “did I leave the gas on” moment when he pushed himself off of her, eyes staring right through her while she tried to catch her breath, hands ready to pull him back down but then he was gone. Bog was on his feet and a blur disappearing through the kitchen door before Marianne could even blink._

“The hell was that about?!” Marianne roared at her ceiling, flailing her limbs and slamming her heels into her mattress before she slumped prone on her bed again.

_He didn’t talk to her about it. In fact, he had vanished from the house entirely when she went to find him. Marianne searched all of his favorite haunts in the house but the man disappeared from existence without a parting word and she was alone. Marianne spent the next eight hours waiting for him to come back, passing out on his couch with the television going, only to wake up the next morning to discover he still hadn’t come home._

_Worried she might have fucked up what was her life for the past three years because the dried husk she called a heart was feeling a few palpitations again, Marianne did a walk of shame of an entirely different nature back to her apartment. She was barely in the door when her cell phone went off in her coat pocket. She had dropped it not once but twice in her frantic need to answer it the moment she heard the familiar ringtone. It had been Bog at last! Marianne prepared to rip him a new one, turning to head back to his house to do it in person when his voice interrupted her with a grave tone that stopped her in her tracks._

_“Marianne, I’m sorry I disappeared last night.” His grim voice had sounded truly apologetic through the speaker. “Something has come up and I have to head out of town for a few days.”_

_“Like hell something’s come up! You’re not going to—“_

_“Marianne!” Her name came out sharp and loud compared to his typical tone with her and she immediately clammed up, shocked by the venom in his voice. “I’m serious! I have to leave but I’ll be back soon. Until then…well…you’ve got a few days to sleep in.”_

_Marianne didn’t want a few days to sleep in! She wanted Bog to come back so she could punch him in the face for making her feel things she didn’t want to feel again! She wanted to wring his scrawny neck and kiss him silly at the same time. Emotions were a real bitch like that. Marianne slumped into her doorway, a hand to her head while she let him have a moment to get over his previous anger._

_“Okay if I say something now?”_

_His sigh crackled through the speaker. “What, Marianne?”_

_“When you get back…we’re going to talk about what happened last night.” She wasn’t asking. She was telling. “Do you understand?”_

_There was silence on the other end, Marianne clutching her phone even tighter as she waited for him to answer._

_“Okay. We’ll talk about it as soon as I get back.”_

And then the fucker had hung up on her without a “goodbye!” Son of a bitch always said goodbye before he hung up on the phone with her! Even when they still mutually disliked one another in the infant stage of their working relationship he gave a final parting word before the line went dead but this was the first time he had hung up without saying anything. Marianne had been guilty of hanging up on him a few times but when the tables turned…it had felt really cold.  


Everything had been cold since he had taken off.

The first day Bog had skipped town to take care of his business, Marianne had killed her morning and afternoon trying to clean her apartment. She spent so little time in it for the past several months that it hardly even felt like home anymore. Coming home and sleeping after hanging out at Bog’s house for the majority of her days hardly counted as living in her place, a handful of sleepy showers didn’t make the bathroom hers anymore than it was just a place to wash her ass. She tried to distract herself from over thinking the situation, cleaning out her fridge of everything that had been fermenting inside of it, dusting untouched shelves, cleaning up the windows and her black box of a television with a healthy dose of Windex after drawing horrible pictures in the dust on the screen. Her toilet had an ugly ring of mold starting to grow on the waterline because of its lack of action and she scrubbed that away along with her shower.

The apartment was spotless by the time Dawn showed up. She was impressed when she came to join her for the evening armed with ice cream and enough soda to kill Marianne’s sense of sleep for the next week. Marianne resisted the urge to demand beer because this wasn’t a beer situation. This was a chill out with your sister and watch movies situation. It was a coping method where you pretended nothing happened and tried to handle the day as you would any other before the emotional turmoil happened. They watched _Clue_ and Marianne bitched about the fact that all three endings had the female characters targeted as being the murderers the whole time. The third one split it up between all of them but that didn’t make it any better. Perhaps she was just feeling bitter over the male species in general but Dawn handled her griping with patient agreement that was more like she was saying “just enjoy the movie, you dork.” They watched a Disney film for Dawn next, Marianne unable to whine about _Brave_ because Merida didn’t fall in love so she sang her praises through the film. The fact that there were Scottish accents up the wazoo didn’t register until the end of the film and she chucked her empty container of Americone Dream at the screen with an angry cry as the credits rolled. Something along the lines of “Fuck you, Scotland!” might have come into play before Dawn pacified her with another Coke.

The second day didn’t feel like another one at all when she had been awake the entire night, Dawn passed out on the sofa with her feet in her lap. Marianne had watched an NCIS marathon that was on regular cable before it turned into infomercials the rest of the evening. She was thoroughly educated on the new Shark vacuum cleaner and how much better than the Dyson Ball it was according to the people who paid for the infomercial. There was a new shampoo that was supposedly hair porn in a bottle and yet it wasn’t sold in stores anywhere because why mass produce something so awesome that you would want to run to the store and have it right fucking now?

The light of morning brought a new round of entertainment, ending the constant chant of “send your money to me” and making way for crime dramas to take over again. None of the plot or the information seemed to stick though. She sent Dawn home, after blankly staring into the screen for another two hours, promising her she would nap to make up for not sleeping. Instead, she had bundled up and traipsed through town, eventually taking a cab to LA and paying her father a surprise visit.

Of course Dagda had been thrilled that she came to see him, though she didn’t go into detail on why she didn’t just drive her own car there. They killed the morning catching up, Marianne able to conceal her sleepless night-induced numbness while her father told her about how well business was going at the company and dodging questions he asked about Mr. Kingston with half-truths. Eventually she revealed that he had gone on a trip to Scotland to visit his family after he had felt well enough to travel. Not long afterward, Dagda was called away by the office and Marianne made her exit, embracing her father a little longer than was probably necessary but hey, a girl sometimes needed her father and she was going to savor every drop of affection he could give her before they had to part ways.

She wandered Hollywood Boulevard and the studios where she eventually passed the gates of Fairview Studios, trying to focus more on the buildings beyond the bars more so than the gate itself. Still, her fingers felt numb when they touched the iron, the sets and workshops loomed ahead but she barely felt any nostalgia for her lost job at this point. It had been three years since she was slumped in this spot, ready to bite the bullet and beg for her job back after only being fired for about ten minutes for the sake of not enduring unemployment and then there he had been. Marianne looked to the spot where he stood, almost half expecting him to be standing there with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and face stuck in its permanent grouse. Somehow picturing that was what toppled her over the edge of “I’m okay” into “holy shit I’m really not okay.”

Marianne immediately went home after that. It was a very quiet cab ride; even the driver didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation during it. When she trudged back into her apartment, she sought out the comfort of the television again, nursing a can of soda still left from Dawn’s visit last night. Marianne must have marathoned on nearly every Avengers film she owned in the franchise to kill her night until it bled into the third morning when she was bleary-eyed and barely even felt alive after two sleepless nights. Now that it was the third day and she was running on no sleep what-so-ever, it was time to face the music and admit that there was a problem here. A problem with her because she was a sleeper. If sleeping was a sport, Marianne would have gladly competed in it. Which is why she always enjoyed her days off whenever Bog didn’t need her to apply his make-up or she could go back to bed after putting on his face.

Now, however, it felt like the furthest thing from her mind.

Marianne numbly shut off her television in the middle of the epic battle between the Avengers and Loki’s army. It was almost six o’clock and her body instinctively started preparing for her work day. Marianne rose from her couch and grabbed her keys and satchel that served as a purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder. She didn’t bother to clean herself up when she dragged her coat on, foregoing her car because even she had enough sense to not drive when she had been awake for three days.

It had been ages since she walked to Bog’s house after she bought her car and the route was no less familiar but it felt miles longer. The cold air felt good for the first few minutes, it woke her up and made her feel a bit fresher than she probably was. Two days and no shower, her hair was suffering and Dawn would probably not want to hug her if she came by that night. Still, Marianne hoofed it to her boss’s house, foregoing the fact that he had claimed he was leaving town for a few days. Hey, a couple meant two, a few generally meant three in the vague number scale. Surely he would be back by now.

Her nose was starting to run when Marianne passed the familiar neighborhoods that she used to plow through on her morning walks to the old Victorian house. Little boxes containing families, retired couples, and people just starting out in homes of their own were all she could see when ascending the hill. Nothing really registered the entirety of her walk, not the kids waiting for the bus or the people making their morning commutes to work. It was all rather muted to her even when she plodded across the paving stones of Bog’s yard, stalking towards the porch and stopping short of the bottom step. She craned her head back and looked at the house standing tall, dark, and quiet before her. The windows were still covered, the porch still bearing Dawn’s little welcome mat, the whole building looked utterly lifeless. Well, that made two of them.

Her feet were heavy when she trudged up the steps and approached the front door, sniffling and hoping she wasn’t a snotty mess at this point. She rapped on the wood, the traditional knock she always gave but the door did not cave inwards as it always had. Marianne knocked again, her heart aching with hope that it would open under her knuckles but the door stood firm.

Clenching her teeth and snorting to keep her nose dry, she glared at the dark wood and fisted her hand, hammering it onto the surface with loud bangs. Still he didn’t answer and Marianne put more effort into it. She drummed her knuckles on it in annoying tunes he always hated, scratched at the paint because tiny little noises like that drove him up the wall, but eventually she stopped horsing around and banged both fists against the door. She felt it rattle under her hands but only because she had disturbed it on its hinges. It wasn’t opening anytime soon to her, no matter how much she knocked. Her banging started to lose steam. The emotional dam inside of her that she had been adding more and more concrete to since the Roland incident, suddenly sprung a leak, her lips trembling and teeth unclenching as she nearly sobbed. The metaphorical leak got bigger and she slumped into the wood, her fists weakly striking once, twice, then a third time before her palms landed flat against it.

“OPEN THE DOOR YOU FUCKING NOSFERATU WANNABE!” she shouted into the paint, pressing her forehead against it. Her voice faltered before she could unleash anymore swears and the only thing that came out was a word and it sounded so weak, so utterly broken in structure, she hoped that he wouldn’t hear it even if he was in there. “Please…”

She eventually hunkered down on his front steps after giving up on the door, embracing her knees and huffing into her aching hands that throbbed from her violent knocking. In her mind she was scolding herself for acting so pathetic when she had promised herself she would never let herself react this way to a man ever again. Bog hadn’t been considered an option at the time. He was a grouchy old vampire, an employer and an utter dork when it came down to the nitty gritty details. Then she had learned about all of his dirty little secrets. She learned how to press all the right buttons to get him to bend to her will. It was only a matter of time before he learned all of hers.

_Don’t leave me here alone…_

Dawn would join her again that night, shocked at the complete shift in her sister’s attitude from the last time she had seen her. They tried to repeat the first night with snacks and sodas but they barely made it ten minutes into Angels in the Outfield before Marianne’s emotional dam broke into a thousand pieces, leaving her an utter mess and slumping into Dawn’s open arms. She didn’t ask, she didn’t judge, she just held her while Marianne fell apart. For swearing to never cry over a guy again, Marianne certainly leaked enough all over her for Dawn to enter into a wet t-shirt contest if she hadn’t eventually passed out in her arms, pinning her to her couch for the night.

\------------

Two more days came and went after Marianne had spilled like a faucet on high. It all culminated to this point, her lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for other shoe to fucking drop when Bog would call her to tell her he was back. They would meet to talk about them and the awkward feelings that trailed after them everywhere and had been for three whole years. Marianne wasn’t going to deny that they bonded too quickly not to realize this would happen to them. Maybe Bog knew it since he was the fucking know it all vampire and everything. If that were the case, she hoped he knew how to get her out of it if he didn’t take responsibility for making her feel this God-awful feeling again.

“Marianne?”

“I’m dead!” Marianne groaned, not realizing Dawn had let herself in. She really needed to get that key back from her soon.

“Marianne, come on.” Dawn approached the side of the bed and braced her hands upon her hips. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Is there a dial to turn down your voice any?”

“I’m just talking…wait, were you drinking last night?”

“Then you need to talk softer and yeah, I started the hard liquor drip last night.” Marianne squinted at her, tapping at her vein for emphasis but they both knew she had ingested it and not intravenously consumed it like she jested.

Dawn sighed and sat down upon the side of the bed. “Marianne, you need to tell me what’s going on. Not just because I’m curious this time, Dad wants to know why too.”

“Dawn!” She pushed herself upright. “You told Dad?!”

“I didn’t have to; he saw that you were upset when you went to see him the other day.” Dawn folded her arms, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her.

Marianne could see that Dawn had been untouched by Marianne’s personal misery since Bog had run off into the night. She was still glowing, dressed in a light blue dress suit with her hair styled so that all the ends of her hair flipped outward. Her make-up was minimal but even Marianne could appreciate that it was flawless. She rolled over into Dawn’s leg, pressing her forehead into her thigh and sighing when a gentle palm brushed over her hair.

“I kissed him the other day.” Marianne admitted as she shut her eyes and felt Dawn’s fingers twitch.

“You kissed Bog?” She gasped, tying to force her to turn her head to the side so that she could look into her face.

“Mmmhmm…”

“That’s great!” she squealed, hands jumping to her face and clapping over her cheeks on either side of a wide smile. “How did it go?”

“Dawn, I’ve been hiding in my apartment for the past few days and spent the last two drunk off my ass, how the hell do you think it went?” she asked flatly, finding Dawn’s glee irritating.

“Okay, not very well then.” She conceded, shrugging her shoulders before lowering her hands into her lap. “Why did you kiss him?”

“He kissed me first!” Marianne snapped, pushing herself upright and folding her legs on the bed.

The shock that crossed Dawn’s face was justified. Marianne didn’t think that he would be the one to initiate it but he had. It caught her completely by surprise because they hadn’t really done anything to lead up to that kiss. They had a nice day but nothing really romantic that could lead up to such a thing. Sure, she was making heart eyes at him like an idiot all day but he wasn’t supposed to notice that! Marianne was trying to keep it subtle and she probably would have gotten away with it if he didn’t jump the gun and kiss her first.

“If he kissed you first, doesn’t that mean that he loves you?” Dawn asked innocently, scooting in closer and draping her arm around her shoulders.

Marianne massaged her temples. Her eyes were dry, irritated from the useless crying accompanied by her pity parties thrown as soon as Dawn went home the past two nights. She found her way to the bottom of her vodka bottle and suckled beers the rest of the way into her stupor. The majority of her hangover was spent hiding under her pillows and blankets for the majority of the morning but she managed to find the pain pills and water enough to hold the worse of it at bay before Dawn snuck in. There was still a touch of a headache behind her eyes and she covered them with her hand, sighing through a wry smile.

“If he did, would he have run off?” she dropped her hand into her lap, peering over at Dawn. “I chased him down and kissed him again because his was just a little peck and I didn’t want him to leave it like that.”

“Well yeah, I don’t think anyone would.” Dawn scoffed, Marianne arching an eyebrow at her sister’s attitude towards it. “How was it?”

“Dawn…it was everything the books say it’s supposed to be.” Marianne breathed, grasping her shoulders. “I didn’t think it was possible but that fucker made it happen. Rainbows, shooting stars, angels singing the halleluiah chorus…God; I was blown away by a kiss of all things!”

Dawn smiled, making a dreamy sigh. “That sounds like it was some kiss.”

“Oh it was and he knew it was too.” She lowered her attention, hands resting in her lap as she plucked at a thread on her pajama pants thoughtfully, her mind conjuring up the kiss to refresh her memory. “It was the grand poobah of lip locks, Dawn, and he ran off right after it happened. I know the kiss wasn’t what chased him away…so it must have been me.”

“It wasn’t you, Marianne.” Dawn soothed, rubbing her back. “I’m sure he had a reason.”

“You always defend that mother sucker.” Marianne growled between her teeth, fighting back an ugly swell of emotion that threaten to bring back Tears the sequel.

“I’m not defending him. You know him more than I do, Marianne. Has he ever run off without a good reason?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.  
I’m serious! I have to leave but I’ll be back soon.

Okay, he might have said that but how did she know it wasn’t just some piss-poor excuse to avoid her because they had reached a whole new level of awkward in their relationship? More than once in the years she has known him, Bog has walked out of the room whenever conversations went to a place he didn’t want to go or they were arguing. He would stomp off or sulk into a dark room but he never left the house. He was always close by where she could find him again and they could smooth things over. Their fights never lasted long because Bog was old enough to understand that a grudge was useless and Marianne was stubborn but Bat Man was her only friend aside from Dawn and she was a blood relation so that didn’t count.

“He never left the house before.” Marianne glanced up at Dawn with a touch of concern knitting her brows together. “This was the first time he ran away where I couldn’t find him.”

“See?” Dawn grinned, holding her by her shoulders. “You just need to patient. He’ll finish up whatever it was that came up and then be back before you know it.”

“I hope he comes back before I’m sixty at least.” She grumbled, flopping back onto the mattress and laying her arm over her eyes. “Maybe I’ll have dementia by then and he can apologize to a woman who doesn’t even know who he is.”

Dawn laughed, laying down next to her and wrapping an arm around her. “He won’t make you wait that long. You’ll hunt him down with bloodhounds before you let him make you wait that long.”

“And don’t you think I won’t.” she threatened the ceiling, slightly shifting her arm back against her forehead. “I swore up and down never to let myself feel like this again, Dawn. I’m weaker than I thought if he made me cave this easily.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was that easy.” Dawn propped her elbow on the bed and leaned her head into her palm. “It took you two three years after all…”

\------------

Bog would have given anything for a drink at that moment. Not blood, he didn’t want any for the moment, he wanted an actual alcoholic beverage without spending the next few minutes hacking it back up in a bathroom somewhere. He needed the burn in his throat, the disorienting lull of a buzz that could spare him from the barrage of thoughts consuming him alive. Sitting at Plumm’s bar in its off hours wasn’t helping with the wall of alcohol standing proudly before him, useless and yet still alluring as hell.

Lacing his fingers together, he drummed them together thoughtfully, frowning at the illuminated bar top. Even without the weekend crowd, Plumm insisted on letting the place thrive with lights. Even the stools had lights produced through wires fed through the bases of the seats where they connected to the floor. Her maintenance man hated it when drunks found ways to break the lights because it was always a pain to unbolt them to get to the wiring. Still, Aura “Sugar” Plumm insisted on her lights.

“Still sulking, Bog?” Aura leaned upon the bar across from him and he shot her a look that left her giggling, amused by his brooding. “Don’t you have something you should be doing right now?”

“I told her I would talk to her once I was in town.” He grumbled.

Aura gestured to him sitting at her bar. “Well then?”

“I’m in town…but I haven’t made it to her apartment yet.”

Bog really did have something to take care of.

The day in the kitchen, he heard his phone vibrating in that moment he had been wrapped up in Marianne’s arms on his kitchen floor and after days of it being lifeless on his desk, he knew it wasn’t good when he heard it dancing across his desk with three calls in rapid succession. Leaving Marianne on the floor had been harder than pulling teeth but he forced himself to run, taking his phone and escaping outside to distance himself from temptation within, not to mention avoid the fact that he had just put his three years going strong friendship on the ropes with that kiss.

Thang was on the line, his voice high-pitched from nerves to the point of nearly being ultrasonic before Stuff snatched the phone away and told him that Brutus had attacked someone in the city and the police had tried to arrest him. As a result, he sort of threw them through a plate glass window and the resulting blood had sent him on a rampage. It took three of them to eventual haul him away. Now the police was on the lookout for someone matching Brutus’ description and they didn’t know what to do.

Bog should have told Marianne right then and there that he had to go but the urgency in the background during the call spurred him into leaving without a word. It took him ages to straighten Brutus out, who was still in a frenzy when he got there until Bog subdued him and that had taken a lot out of him. He had to deal with the police after that, hauling Brutus down to the station to suffer the consequences of his actions after he ensured he had fed enough to not be tempted if they gave him a cell mate. The officers had been nervous in taking Brutus into custody but nothing compared to Bog’s wrecked nerves when he had to stand there under the guise of a concerned Scottish relative again, something he hadn’t used since Marianne’s Spring Ball.

“Are you still scared of emotional involvement?” She teased, leaning her elbow upon the bar and bracing her chin on her knuckles. “Old wounds still smartin’?”

“Aura, I swear—” he growled, banging a fist upon the bar, the lights flickering from the jarring impact.

“She’s not going to last forever!” Aura pointed out, frowning when she saw the lights flicker but then they went steady again. “You told me that she’s been willing to switch over for you for years now, even before you two started to do the awkward shuffle around one another. Marianne is a strong, independent woman who is willing to give up everything to help you and your disguises.”

“I only wanted her to work for me until “Mister Kingston” died.” Bog braced his elbows on the counter, massaging his temples. “I didn’t expect…this.”

“No one does, Bog.” Aura patted his shoulder but he felt little to no sympathy in that touch. “Your mother would be over the moon right now if you brought this problem to her.”

“Yes, she would have been.” He shielded his eyes from her, refusing to let her see the touch of solemnity that crossed his features at the mentioning of his mother. He couldn’t bring her into this endless life, she didn’t want it and so he didn’t force her. It has been centuries since she passed but any talk of loved ones long gone always brought up the pain of knowing he shouldn’t have outlived her this long.

Casting another glance at the alcohol bottles reaching to the ceiling, he longed to order a drink again. He didn’t; of course. There was no liquid courage to be found in those bottles, not for him. Aura’s prodding wasn’t helping either. He should have just gotten it over with and went to see Marianne already. Dawn had texted him countless messages through his absence, asking where he was and why he wasn’t texting her back. She told him how Marianne was taking the situation, asking him to at least text her so she could relay some kind of message back to her sister but what the hell could he say?

“In all seriousness, Bog, I think you should get your undead ass over there and apologize for making her wait so long then tell her exactly how you feel without trying to weasel out of it this time.” Plumm encouraged, tapping under his chin with a knuckle. “Have courage. If she loves you as much as I think she does, she’ll be happy to see you before she wants to kill you.”

“Very reassuring, Plumm, thanks.” He sighed, slipping off of the stool.

“Ah—compensation?” she held out her hand.

“I didn’t drink anything.” He pointed out the empty space where he had been sitting even though his hand went for his wallet at the same time.

“This is a business, Bog. I can charge you for clouding up my place with your brooding for the past two hours if I want to.”

Sneering at her greed, he fished out two dollars and tossed them onto the counter, ignoring her pout at the small amount before he was tucking his wallet away again and heading for the door. If he was going to go see Marianne, he was going to have to do it now and face the music. As far as his immortality was concerned, he would keep on ticking like a Timex as long as she wasn’t armed with a blade bigger than a chef’s knife when he arrived at her door. Knowing Marianne, she could have improvised with a pocket knife if she was determined enough.

\------------

Dawn had left insisting that Marianne would be joining her for Karaoke Night at the Three Little Birds tonight, no excuses. She felt like going about as much as she wanted to lie in the street and wait for a truck to run over her. Something told her that her picks for the night would all relate to man-slamming tunes that ripped them apart. Probably some Taylor Swift would even wriggle in there and she didn’t even listen to her music. She gagged on the idea, still prone on her bed where Dawn had left her that morning and watching the sunlight gradually crawl along her ceiling through the day.

Eventually, she tried to get up and find something to do. Her apartment was still spotless thanks to those days spent cleaning instead of finding that independent life she was supposed to be so proud of finding on her own, so cleaning was out. Her DVD collection had been burned through the past week as well as her alcohol stash so drunken viewings of disaster films or crime dramas were out of the question. Most movies had elements of love stories in the mix and it left her rolling her eyes at most of the titles that were once old favorites of hers. Even Jurassic Park held no luster in her eyes, which was sacrilege to her inner nineties kid. She didn’t want to see the cane that Bog had bought by her prompting. She didn’t want to watch Batman for fear of the name connecting to her affectionate nickname for her pinheaded boss.

Marianne jammed in _On Our Own_ and sprawled on the couch, watching the four children and their dog escape the custody of the state so that they wouldn’t be separated. After that was over, the afternoon became a marathon of feel-good kid and animal films that ranged from _Goonies_ to _The Sandlot_ , _Air Bud_ and _Homeward Bound_. Screw the timelines, she was absolutely positive that Shadow and Buddy were the same fucking dog and no one could convince her otherwise! She stubbornly thought about this up to the point where she was left nearly bawling when the beaten up old dog came onto the screen, much to his owner’s relief. Sniffling at the hear-wrenching warm fuzzies at the reunion of the family with their beloved pets, she shut everything down mid-credits and straightened up in time to see that it was growing dark outside.

Dawn would be coming for her soon.

Groaning at the concept of being forced to face the outside world again, Marianne trudged to her bathroom and threw herself into the shower because after three days without one, she was starting to smell a bit ripe. Dawn made sure to point that out to her oh-so-politely that morning so there was no way in hell she would get away with skipping out on one tonight. She hated to admit it but she stank something fierce when she first turned on the spray and couldn’t get to the body wash fast enough before she felt remotely better, foregoing shampoo for the sake of scrubbing her pits practically raw. Her legs were prickly from lack of attention the past several days so she even shaved them for no one but her own peace of mind.

Rather than dressing up for karaoke night, Marianne was perfectly fine with wearing jeans. Hair still wet she dragged a burgundy sweater over her head, checking the knit material in her mirror with a frown. Dawn would approve but she predicted itching in her near future right where the seam touched her collarbone. Her fingers scratched at it absently after the thought while she dragged her black boots out as well as socks. The socks she plucked from her drawer had been a gift…from Bog. She nearly dropped them back into the drawer but hesitated, trailing her thumb over the fading character faces in the fabric. Bog had given them to her their first Christmas when he had no idea what to get her when she demanded a present for her hard work and bought a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle socks from the local Hot Topic. She still remembered him grumbling about the awkward shopping experience in full elderly make-up while passing her the newspaper-wrapped gift with a sneer. Marianne loved them and she wore the socks proudly around her apartment every chance they were fresh from the laundry.

Now the socks were faded from the number of washes and her own abusive feet, the elastic was wearing out and her toenails had managed to slice little holes into the toe of the socks. She still wore them, even now when she should have trashed them in a rage she still rolled them onto her feet with thoughtful fingers. Raphael was going cross-eyed on her calf from the stretch of the thinning fabric when there was a rapping on her door, distracting her from putting her boots on.  
Dawn must have come to make sure she wasn’t going to bail on her in favor of sulking at home another day.

Sliding across the floorboards one foot after the other, she reached the door and swung it open enough to lean out into the stairwell to face her sister but instead she found herself face to face with a very familiar, very pointed nose. Marianne leaned back a bit, Bog’s eyes going wide after their close proximity while he tucked his phone away in his pocket after abruptly switching the screen off. Was he trying to call her as a warning after he had already knocked?

She could see that under his black coat he was dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, his typical garb when dealing with his vampire troupe and his hair was still slicked back but one side was a bit rumpled, probably from his own hand digging into it in that nervous habit of his. Her fingers tightened on the frame, noticing that his height was off and it was because he was standing the third step down from the top of the stairs, his hands buried in his pockets while his eyes contritely turned down towards the steps still left in between them.

“Marianne,” he opened his mouth to continue but she was already moving out of the doorway.

Gravity and all of its rules were suddenly irrelevant as Marianne performed the mother of all trust falls by launching herself out into the stairwell at him. She wanted to punch him, she was _ready_ to punch him, too! However, when she jumped at him, her fist turned into grasping fingers and she nearly knocked him backwards when she latched onto his frame, his body immediately stiffening under her weight but she didn’t rip into him with her nails or even try to bite him with her useless teeth. She clung to him like a damn lifeline, arms and legs wrapping around the man like a frog to a twig.

He toppled backwards at first, undoubtedly caught off guard by her glomp attack rather than trying to beat the shit out of him or push him down the stairs. Bog’s hands shot out, thumping loudly against the overly-varnished walls to stop himself from dropping back and regaining his balance on the step. Once he was square, he slipped his arms completely around her and she squeezed him even tighter, twisting her head to the side and risking the creep factor by breathing in the long lost scent of him.

“You’re a real rat bastard, you know that?” She croaked into his shirt collar, nose pressing—hopefully painfully—into his neck.

“Yeah,” his head dipped in a nod. Marianne clenched her teeth and resisted the burn behind her eyelids where tears threatened to well up.

“I should spray you with Off!” One of her hands clutched the back of his head, digging her nails into his stupidly slickened hair. She wanted to obscure that damn hair out of the intended style and get the natural lay of it again but with all the gel it took to maintain that sleekness, it only left his hair wild where her fingers were still dug deep inside of it. “…fucking mosquito.”

Still supporting her with his arms and Marianne still latched on to the point of her legs aching where his sharp hip bones jutted into her thighs, Bog ascended the last two stairs and carried her inside the apartment. He took a moment to make sure she was secure before kicking the door shut after him, twisting around and stopping again. They had to be standing near her kitchen now but she didn’t give a flying fuck where he took her, so long as he didn’t expect her to let him go anytime soon.  


“You ran off without saying a damn word!” It was probably stupid yelling at him while clinging to him like a long lost Pay Day bar but who was he to judge her for acting like a complete basket case at this point?

“I did,” Bog confirmed, his body giving her the slightest of rocking motions that moved her side to side while she twisted her face and hid her near sob into the fabric of his coat. Wool is so damn itchy, it was abrasive on her skin but she refused to pick her head up just yet. Bog’s hand was soothing against her back and the other caressed her hair with gentle fingers that were the complete opposite of how she latched onto him like she was the one that bore teeth and claws. She was the parasite and he was the host this time, sustaining her and giving her life after she had been practically dying the past week.

_Melodramatic much, Marianne?_

Relaxing her arms, she risked picking her head up and leaned back to look him in the eye. Bog met her gaze with guilty eyes that clearly stated he knew he screwed up. That contrite expression was all she saw and God damnit, she was already willing to forgive him by that alone! Of course she wasn’t going to cave that easy, even if her heart was out of control, she refused to be bowled over completely by this damn emotion. She was still pissed that he had left her alone for a week without telling her where he was going or why and while Dawn was all reason and common sense, Marianne allowed herself to be the stubborn mule and continue to sulk.

“I’m sorry,” he drew her from her fuming and she met his gaze again, startled by the willingly given apology. One look was enough to confirm that he meant it, however abrupt it had been, but he really did apologize and those damn blue eyes were searching hers, trying to find the beginnings of her acceptance but it only tugged at her heart all the harder.

For a moment, she wanted to kiss him.

Marianne leaned in closer and he started to crane his neck in response but neither of them closed the gap completely. Her forehead touched against his and his hand came to her cheek, their personal space was completely obliterated and yet she felt miles away. It burned with the friction against his skin when she turned her head without breaking the contact between their foreheads, trying to get a better angle to tempt a kiss from him but their parted lips froze before either pair could touch the other. They tried again, Bog’s breath hitching, hers huffing out, wanting to meet but once again they faltered, Marianne gritting her teeth and just embracing him, hiding her shame behind his head.

They couldn’t kiss. Not yet.

“We have to talk, Bog.” She admitted, fingers fisting on the tips of his hair but she didn’t pull on them, merely stared blindly through watering eyes over his shoulder.  


“I know,” his words were quiet but coherent compared to the range of emotions putting her own voice on the fritz with no tuning dial to clear it up again.

“Are two words all you’re capable of speaking together?” she asked with a bitter laugh, slowly disengaging herself from him at last and he steadily lowered her to the floor, hands under her arms and setting her on her feet. Marianne wasn’t sure what it was but some part of her wanted to keep a hold of him. If she let go, he could make a break for the door. Squeezing at the sleeve of his coat, she forced herself to let go of it, fingers stiffly touching at the back of her head to scratch it but the digits didn’t seem to register their nervous fidget yet. “So, um where did you go?”

_Subtle as hell…_

“Brutus got into some trouble in LA.” Bog explained, his posture was slouched, hands slipping into his pockets. “He was out of control and the others couldn’t keep him contained, so I had to come in and straighten him out.”

“Then you—” Marianne gawked as he lifted his head up to meet her startled gaze. “You didn’t just run off because of…what happened in the kitchen?” He nodded his head and she gave a soft huff that could have been a laugh but it certainly didn’t feel light enough to be one. Whatever it was, Dawn had been right. Bog left for a genuine reason and she had been beating herself up the whole damn time for nothing! “Well, that’s a relief! Here I thought it was my fault!”

“No, Marianne!” He went wide-eyed as he held up his hands, shaking his head. “It wasn’t you! Though, I admit that’s one of the reasons it took so long to come back…”

“Oh, so it _did_ have something to do with me?” she narrowed her eyes at him, lips pressing together as she began to frown.

“Not so much you as it had to do with me,” he indicated between them as he spoke. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been…like that with someone…without having an ulterior motive.”

“So you haven’t really kissed anyone unless you were feeding…” she murmured, fingers slipping to her lower lip thoughtfully as she thought about it. He certainly didn’t seem rusty when she kissed him that night. Hell, maybe it was like riding a bike with him unless he—“Wait—does that mean you’ve been kissing your donors all this time?”

“No!” Bog’s denial was abrupt and he stepped back from her, hands still up in surrender. “Not recently, it was—”

“Recently?!” Her temper flared to life and it felt good to be pissed off again after all of her heartbroken moping that turned out to be bogus. “You have been smooching other people to get to their blood?” Marianne’s voice was growing louder but it was hard to resist when she was feeling a jealous rage coming on and it was ugly. All that time she had given Bog blood and he never tried to seduce her for it! He never tried to soothe his bites with kisses like the vampires in the damn romance novels before they began or even after they ended. It was all chaste, almost clinical when he fed on her but now she was hearing that he had been kissing people, willingly _seducing_ them for years to get the blood he wanted?

Why did she feel so damn deprived?

“I have to do a lot of things to build up to them giving me blood but that was only for—”

“Oh my God, I’ve been thinking you were this innocent little baby bat this whole time and you’ve been as hormonal as a damn teenager with other donors!” She threw her hands up to the ceiling, glaring at him while curling her figners into fists in a very ‘Hulk Smash’ manner but she spared herself the embarassment of stomping her feet. Flaring her fingers out still over her head, she forced her arms down and she kept her palms up, shoulder high as she stepped back from him. “I’m sorry I’m not _hot enough_ to make you want to put any effort into seducing my ass into your coffin for a little plasma! Guess I should just let you go out and get back to necking—hell, I bet you really do like necks and you were just bullshitting me back in the day!”

“Marianne, will you just stop and listen to me already?!” he snarled, lips curling in a sneer and brows narrowing further in the longer she had ranted.

In her rampage, Marianne had ended up by the kitchen. She reached out and slammed her hand upon the lip of the sink, drumming her fingers upon the dented metal until her gaze zeroed in on a glass sitting innocently in the basin. She snatched it out and without a second thought, chucked it right at him. Marianne hoped it would smack right into his face, maybe on the nose for good measure but he batted it away with his hand, his body leaning away from the projectile even though he struck it in the opposite direction and it flew into the wall, shattering against the bricks.

Irritated that it hadn’t hit its mark, she settled for yelling at him again. “Get out of my house!”

“Damn it, Marianne!” he stepped towards her and she pointedly opened a cabined, revealing ammunition of more glasses waiting inside. That made him stop and she grabbed a coffee mug, eyeing the smiley faces all over the ceramic surface. Roland’s old mug. Well, she had the perfect use for that! Tossing it up then catching it back in her hand, she aimed and pelted the coffee cup at him. Bog ducked away from it and it clattered across the floor behind him. Stupid thing didn’t even break! “Stop throwing your dishes at me and _listen_!”

“No!” She reached for the nearest ammunition but her blind grab led to her grasping the kitchen sponge and flinging it at him. The yellow rectangle bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. “Find some other moron to gnaw on!”

“I don’t—“

“GET OUT!” She screamed, closing her eyes tightly shut and balling her hands into fists at her sides. She felt like a child throwing a tantrum, everything short of stomping her foot had been done. “GO CHOKE ON A TAMPON!”

She put so much into that yell she was left heaving, winded by her anger but she refused to watch him go. Tears were escaping again, angry, hot tears that burned when they slipped through her eyes and scorched her cheeks. Scraping the sleeve of her sweater across her face, she wiped them away with a sniff. The apartment was deathly quiet all around them, Marianne straining to hear him leave but she didn’t even hear a footstep. Hands cautiously touched at her shoulders and she immediately batted them away, jumping back from them and holding her fists at the ready to strike out the next time he tried to touch her.

“Recently to me doesn’t mean the same amount of time it does to you, Marianne.” He said, there was still irritation in his words but he was also cautious and she opened her eyes to find him standing not far from her, hands hovering where he had originally tried to touch her. “When you were willing to give me doses, I stopped trying to find others until…the last time.”

When she had nearly dragged him over the back of the couch in a fit of lust-driven strength because she had realized she was in love with him at that point? Yeah, she remembered that moment vividly. Vampire bites hurt but his touch didn’t and that was what stirred up the libido. Bog had big hands, long fingers, and he knew exactly what he could do with them even if he wasn’t conscious of the impact those simple caresses and strokes made on her. Marianne wasn’t alone in that moment. Bog was just as guilty of feeling something during that last bite as she was. He just knew when to stop unlike her, apparently.

“I haven’t been with anyone seriously since Katherine left, Marianne.” Bog sighed, hands dropping to his sides. “That was ninety two years ago.”

Katherine, she remembered that name. Bog told her about her once then vehemently refused to talk about it again since then.

There was a woman who found out he was a vampire. Instead of being terrified, she volunteered her blood to him and he fell in love with her over the years he knew her as his donor. They were lovers for a while but as she got older, she started to grow sadder and sadder because while Bog gave her everything he had, he couldn’t give her the family life she always dreamed of. Katherine left him and fell in love with another man, leaving Bog feeling lower than dirt, hence his heightened bitterness towards already problematic relationships. That same bitterness was what that they bonded over from day one and look where they were now!

“To say you’re rusty would be an understatement.” She murmured, her previously swelling anger suddenly springing a leak that slowly deflated. Without her fury fueling her throwing arm, she left the kitchenette, going to her windows facing the square where she laid her hands upon the sill, staring down at the street below. Marianne glanced back over her shoulder at him. “You really haven’t been with anyone since I’ve know you? Like…actual dating kind of stuff?”

“No one,” Bog confirmed. “Every person I have taken blood from has been just as careful as I have been with you. With all of the vampire novels out there these days, some women tend to think that I am some tragic figure and they’re the one to remedy that and I didn’t want anyone to get the idea that they needed to feel sorry for me and my situation. I still don’t. I don’t want another Katherine.”

“Do you think that’s what I am?” Turning to face him, her hand went to her heart. “I’m feeling the way I do because I see you as some charity case?”

He stood beside her at the windows, keeping a good distance between them for her sake while he leaned into the window, slipping his hands into his pockets again. “It’s not in your nature to be manipulated by pity. You abhor romantic love, Marianne, because it betrayed you right when you were at the pinnacle of happiness. You wouldn’t trust yourself to such a weak feeling as sympathy to be the source inspiring you to risk affection.”

Marianne leaned back as well, smiling to herself. “You’re a fucking know-it-all, you know that?”

“Years of experience,” he smiled back, though it was a vague curve of the lips. She nodded, folding her arms across her chest but her fingers gripped her upper limbs for some semblance of comfort. Even though she had come down from the high of her anger, she was left still feeling rattled by the influx of different emotions that surged and receded in her so suddenly the past several minutes.

“I hate the idea of falling in love again, Bog. I’ve hated it for three years and it sound so corny saying it out loud like this.” She admitted, rubbing at her arms a bit as the nerves started to come back. “But you just sort of happened. You made it feel like it wasn’t like such a bad idea. Nothing has to change if I’m in love with you. We can still watch movies on your big screen, play chess games I never win, argue over the stupid nicknames I give you, debate on who did the best adaptation of Superman on Sunday nights. Nothing has to be different. The only thing that would change is when you feed, I can hold you without being scared of getting too personal. We can cuddle on the couch while we rag on Arnold’s repetitive roles in all his movies. I can kiss you when I come through the door in the mornings before I slather you in latex and glue…simple things like that.”

Bog thoughtfully folded his arms as well, eyes trailing down to the floor as his angular brows knitted in thought. Eventually the little wrinkles lifted just enough to show he had reached some kind of conclusion when he finally looked to her again.

“For how long though?” Bog pushed off of the window and went to her, Marianne shifting a little against her spot and swallowing when he was beside her. “How long will that be enough, Marianne?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, eyes falling to the buttons on his shirt. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say one day I would probably want more.” Looking back into his face, she shrugged her shoulders up. “That’s the thing, though…we have time to figure that out. You just need to tell me if you’re willing to try.”

\------------

Night had settled completely over the town, Bog glancing up at the windows when he noticed the glow of the street lamps flickering to life outside. He felt his phone go off in his pocket, withdrawing it with a careful hand and checking the screen to see that Dawn had responded to the message he left her when Marianne had found him on the stairs. She had gotten his text, letting Marianne off the hook for karaoke night and sending him a winking emoji that he grimaced at before he shoved the phone back into his pocket. Shaking his head at one sister, he risked looking down at the other one’s head where it was resting against his arm. Her brow was still furrowed even in sleep, a permanent sense of dread for his decision even after she had fallen asleep waiting for him to think on it. He sat with her on her small couch, the room dark around them with only the light from the bathroom streaming through the open door, leaving them mostly in the dark aside from the yellow glow of the outside lamps spread across the ceiling.

It had gone quiet in the apartment since she had fallen asleep, giving him plenty of silence to think things over. He shifted his arm, easing it out from beneath her and spreading it across the back of the couch. The absence of the limb disturbed her and Marianne sagged into his side curling her legs up onto the couch and pressing her cheek to his chest with a sleepy sigh. Bog tilted his head back, closing his eyes to the ceiling as the weight of the situation settled heavy upon his shoulders. Her hand settled against his sternum and for a moment he wondered if she was truly asleep but the slackened lips and plenty of occasions seeing her sleeping before, she certainly was out like a light. His eyes lowered to the hand settled against his chest, touching the tiny bones of her knuckles.

Marianne knew what she wanted; it just depended on his word whether they would act on these feelings or just keep ignoring them for the sake of their working relationship.  


She wasn’t the only one that felt something and they both knew it. Bog was about as subtle about his own feelings as a police siren when he kissed her that night, however brief it had been in that moment. He would have been a fool not to notice the shift in her attitude towards him, but he had been since he didn’t catch on until that night. They rode in the car, she swerved so suddenly and his first reaction was to shield her. Her heart rate didn’t slow down even after they arrived at his house. She smelled on edge, her tone nervous…and it hit him. Bog just chose the wrong method in letting her he knew. The last bite should have been all the evidence he needed to confirm it and at the time he tried to distance himself from her in hopes she would shake it off before it became a problem. She didn’t and neither did he.

When she told him of how things would barely change if he let it happen, Marianne made it sound like it would be so easy. In his heart he knew it wouldn’t change much from the life they lived now. They would do everything just as before but there would be affection behind every gesture and he could imagine holding her, basking in her warmth without fearing she would misunderstand because the reason would already be known.

But relationships weren’t meant to be simple.

Her humanity wasn’t the issue. Vampires and humans have dated off and on so frequently that it wasn’t so taboo as the movies made it out to be. If there were rules against his kind having human lovers, they would have been broken out of spite centuries ago. Love was impossible to ignore, he knew from experience even though he tried his damnest to do so since his transformation. Katherine had been his last mistake and he didn’t want to think about his first one. Marianne wasn’t those women though. She was an entirely different animal all together.

_…I thought…he loved me…_

Her broken voice whispered through his mind and he carefully bent his arm, fingers trailing over the strands of her hair. The sleeping woman against him now was not the same as the one sleeping in his guest room the first night he even knew a Marianne Springfield existed. She pushed his personal boundaries, her heart broken and hands reaching out for something, anything to cling to and spare her from the pain of seeing Roland’s betrayal. Tonight had been a testament to that. Marianne needed comfort and she sought it out by wrapping herself around him in a desperate attempt to find it. Both times she depended on him to save her from her pain and yet he had the potential to only inflict more.

Was he worth it?

Bog scoffed at the idea that he would be worthy of Marianne. Sure, he couldn’t think of anyone that would be worthy of her but he certainly wasn’t one of them either. He hated the idea of holding her back from living a life that was clearly still waiting to be experienced by her. Marianne was only twenty six after all. She had decades ahead of her that could be filled with people, places, and careers beyond helping an old vampire maintain a façade for the world. Eventually he would have to put “Mr. Kingston” to rest and move away to start a new life away from any familiar faces. When that time came, he couldn’t ask Marianne to come with him. Not when she had a life here.

_Maybe, in time, she will realize that._ He thought, leaning down to the point where his neck burned from the nearly impossible stretch. He brushed his lips against her forehead, half kissing her hair in the process but ignoring the contrast in texture. Lifting his head back up, he reached over with his free hand and brushed her bangs aside. Her lips closed and she hummed in her throat with a sleepy smile forming at the touch of his fingers. Trailing the tips along the curve of her face, he tucked a few strands behind her ear for her, following the curve of the cartilage. _Until that day comes…would it be so bad to enjoy the time I do have with her?_

“Marianne,” he spoke softly, brushing her jawline with a knuckle. “Marianne, wake up.”

“Hm?” she grimaced, unwilling to wake and he smiled, hand slipping over her cheek, his thumb lightly flicking over the tip of her nose. She wrinkled it, her eyes slitting open before she started to pick her head up, squinting at him in the darkness. “What is it?”

“Yes.” As soon as he spoke that one work, her eyes widened. That woke her up. He smiled at the dumbfounded expression that broke through her drowsiness, gawking up at him as she sat up, her hand bracing herself on his shoulder.

“Really?”

Bog chuckled, nodding his head. “Let’s do this, Tough Girl.”

She looked positively elated as she stared up at him but then her grin faltered, her eyes dropping down thoughtfully. After a pause, her brows furrowed again and she tilted her head to the side, regarding him until she slowly pointed her index finger. “Did you just—oh my God, Bog! Did you just give me a _nickname_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not very good at writing arguments or heartache because I am a non-confrontational person. I panic when I make people mad so I'm a bit rough with trying to imagine someone who has a backbone in an argument.  
> Also, I know the writing is all over the place. I kind of left then came back to this many times, writing a scene then lettign it sit before coming back like a week later.  
> I hope you still liked reading some part of it!


	10. Surprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne and Bog are dorks in love.  
> Dawn doesn't know they are dating yet.  
> A prompt inspired by tumblr user jupiter235. THANK YOU FOR GETTING ME TO WRITE THESE TWO!

“I think this is the marathon of death I have heard of but never thought I would attempt.” Marianne murmured, shaking her head as she stared at the pile of DVDs sitting comfortably on the coffee table in front of Bog’s couch. The TV was already warmed up but muted since she had given up trying to channel surf until Bog had suggested the idea. Originally he was supposed to be in full make-up and heading to the hospital right now but his meeting was called off rather abruptly in the middle of application and it turned into Marianne accidentally gluing the prosthetic to his eyebrow when Bog suddenly jolted forward in his chair in shock at the sudden change of plans. She left him to remove it himself, considering it punishment for moving without thinking and took up a spot on his couch downstairs instead.  


Now that he didn’t have to go in, they were left with a hitch in the daily routine…which was a problem.

A week ago, Marianne and Bog established that they were going to do the dating dealio. Huzzah! Ring the church bells in celebration! The two idiots have decided they had warm fuzzies for one another after a rough week of personal hell where Bog denied it. Apologies done and over with, they were now met with the reality of what this meant. It meant that their days together were going to be peppered with the little things that Marianne had wanted to do with Bog for a year now but never had the chance to accomplish.  


Marianne continued to stare at the DVDs, the titles blurred because her thoughts were dwelling on the morning greeting, the soft kiss she pressed to Bog’s lips when she had the front door secure behind her, the presence of his hand against her shoulder before she moved away to haul her case upstairs. They knew the routine but the kiss was a nice perk to the normalcy. Bog also managed to distract her a few days ago when he kept touching at her arm, his fingers lingering against her skin while she worked as if reminding himself she was even there during the process.

Those moments were great, but something from the world outside of Bog’s house always interrupted their time together. Sometimes she wondered if fate had a hand in keeping them from getting too close to find out just what this relationship was capable of. It kind of pissed her off that fate was such a cockblock…not that she was thinking about that already! Okay, maybe she did…just a little…every night…after she was home alone.

“God, I’m such a perv.” She muttered, covering her eyes with her hands and dragging her fingers down her face.

“I’m curious what kind of bad thoughts these movies can possibly give you,” Bog mused behind her and she spun around, creating a rather not-so-cool sound that sounded a mix between a duck and dog combined together…if that made sense. Bog certainly appeared confused by the weird noise, his eyebrows raised high and eyes wide.  


“You did the vampire creep again,” she sighed, her hands over her heart after recovering from her little flail. “I need to get you a bell.”

“Sorry,” he reached out and laid his hand over her head, carefully moving it down until he cupped her cheek. “It’s easy to relax around you.”

Marianne’s insides melted at the smile on his face and she probably had a goofy smile on her face to match her gooey innards when she touched his hand and hummed at the little stroke of his thumb against her cheekbone. It was simple, affectionate, but she fucking loved it when he touched her like this. It wasn’t the little shoulder touches, high fives, or first bumps she had rehearsed with him over the years but something loving and almost intimate compared to the simplicity of their former interactions.

“Are we going to do this?” she asked, wriggling her fingers between his hand and her cheek until she was holding it and guiding him to the couch.

“Don’t you need your snack stash before we sit down?”

“Ah-you’re right!” she held up a finger, dropping his hand and rushing down the hallway to the kitchen. “Must have my snacks!”

“You get grouchy when you have to get up in the middle of a movie,” Bog called after her and even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded with a knowing smile while raiding the cabinets. She had stocked her human rations well, chips, pretzels, candy, and popcorn that needed to be popped, even a box of Twinkies was waiting for her and she made sure to grab everything in case her tastes changed throughout the marathon. She threw popcorn in the microwave and busied herself with pulling a case of cola out of the fridge as well as a giant noodle pot Dawn had brought to Bog’s house as a gift back before she knew he was a vampire. Marianne filled the pot with ice and a bit of water, shoving bottles into the icy depths to keep it cold through the hours ahead. Eventually Bog came into the kitchen as well, eyeing the pile of snacks forming on the kitchen table just as Marianne dumped her popcorn into a mixing bowl. She grinned at him when he used two fingers to pick up a bag of Doritos from the table, giving her a pointed look.

“Yeah, I know, the coloring is artificial but they taste great!” Marianne rolled her eyes, recalling his lecture on the process of making the bright orange Nacho-flavored chips. It had sounded unappealing at the time but not to the point where she would deprive herself of orange fingertips and salty snackage. “Stop making that face. It’s not like you’re going to eat them.”

“Excuse me for trying to preserve your health.” He dropped the bag back into the pile. “Do you really believe you are going to eat all of this?”

“Not all of it,” Marianne shook her head, “But I am not getting up for food during this marathon. Bathroom breaks are another story.”

Bog went to the noodle pot being used as a cola cooler and picked it up by the handles, carrying it back to the table where he tucked it in his arm and used the other to pick up a few of the bags of snacks. Marianne carried her popcorn and the rest he hadn’t retrieved, following back into the living room where the Harry Potter and the Sorcer’s Stone menu was already prominent on his television. Marianne felt a stab of nostalgia at the music playing, smiling to herself while setting everything down on the coffee table. Bog moved the remaining discs to a shelf near the DVD player and made sure he had the remote in hand before approaching the couch and stopping at one end of the coffee table while Marianne lingered on the other. The pair of them stared at the couch before glancing at one another.

For three years, movie nights were spent with them sharing this couch or spread in the other chairs available in the room. Tonight, however, was their first movie night as a couple and the both of them were at a loss on whether or not it should have been handled the same as always or if it should be different. Marianne folded her arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, staring at the soft cushions.

“We’re going to have to sit down eventually,” Bog murmured, finally closing the gap and sitting down at the end of the couch, resting the remote on the arm of the couch. Marianne sat down next to him but while her view of the screen was fine, she felt no better than their typical movie nights of the past. She pulled her legs up and leaned into his side, feeling his arm settle along the length of her before she felt the brush of fingers against her hip. That was fine, wasn’t it? Bog shifted a little before his palm made contact with her hip more fully. Yeah, that was good too. This was cuddling, right?

“Do you feel relaxed?” Marianne asked, peeking up at him.

“Not really,” he glanced down at her.

“Me neither,” she admitted, pressing her lips together. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“Well, considering I haven’t done anything like this since your grandmother was born…I’m rusty.” He leaned his head down until they touched foreheads, Marianne unable to resist smiling at the fact they were both horrible at this love thing. Anyone else would have easily fallen into the practice of cuddles with no problems. Marianne and Bog? Not so much.

\------------

It had been a week since she texted Bog, telling him he should go talk to Marianne and yet she had heard from either him or her sister afterward. A part of her wanted to believe that they settled their differences and things had gone back to the way they were because both of them were too pig-headed to admit their feelings even after they were obvious after that kiss. The romantic side of her prayed that they had made up and fell into one another’s arms, admitting their feelings and ending their hate on love streak once and for all. Of course, she was realistic; Marianne would never tell Bog she loved him even if they did kiss. She was too guarded since Roland when it came to love even though she had trusted Bog practically since day one of the break-up.

Whatever. The point was that she was getting worried about them. A week was a long time after Marianne stopped texting and calling her for “cheer me up” sessions spent in her apartment. The last she heard, Bog was back in town and if it was already this late, surely he would be home from the hospital and Marianne would be removing his make-up at least. Sunny agreed to drop her off on his way home after they spotted Marianne’s car in the driveway and Dawn waved him off from the end of the driveway as he drove down the road, hand hanging out of the open window to return it until he was out of sight.

Alone, Dawn turned to the dark Victorian and tisked at the poor state of the building. IF she had her way, she would have cheered the place up a bit. It would have much better face value at that point and maybe Bog’s neighbors wouldn’t think so badly of him. But the old vampire was stubborn, insisting that his home remain the way it is as long as it remains in good condition. She sighed at the lost opportunity before holding her shoulders back and primly walked up the drive until she diverted to the front porch. Her heels should have given her away, what with Boggy’s excellent hearing and all that, but the front door remained resolutely shut when she stopped in front of it, smoothing out her lavender pencil skirt.

She knocked on the dark wood, leaning in to see if she could hear any approach. The interior remained silent and Dawn tried again but it resulted in the same result. The lack of life behind the door after seeing Marianne’s car in the driveway left her concerned again, worrying her lower lip as she looked at the handle and slowly laid her hand over it. She expected it to be locked when she gave it a twist but gasped when it gave way and she slowly eased herself inside. Leaning her head inside, she could hear voices down the hallway but it was clearly from the TV, considering Marianne wasn’t British and Bog’s accent didn’t sound the same as the one carrying up the passage.

Dawn came in and shut the door after her with a soft click. The hallway was dark with only a blue glow from a screen casting light across one of the walls from the entrance to the living room. That was surely where they were meant to be hiding after all of this time. If anything, those two loved their movies after all. However, she had witnessed these movie nights herself and it was much too quiet for the duo to be in there. She approached the doorway and peeked inside, seeing Daniel Radcliffe’s face on the screen as he grimaced towards the camera. This must have been one of the newer films if he was making a face like that. Still, she didn’t see anything in the room but there was obvious snack carnage on the coffee table, her gaze drawn to the arm slung over the back of the couch that drew her closer.

Marianne was sprawled on the couch with her upper body propped against a pillow that was, in turn, braced by the arm of the couch. Her arm was slung over the narrow back of the sofa and her head was tilted back, mouth hanging open oh-so-attractively but that wasn’t what left Dawn staring. Bog was also there but he was lying on top of Marianne, his head resting beneath her breasts and arms wrapped around her torso while his legs draped across the remaining cushions until his shins were hanging over the opposing armrest. It was the first time she had seen his barefoot and seeing his pale toes curling a bit when Marianne twitched left Dawn nearly smiling if she wasn’t distracted by how…cozy…things looked.

Marianne’s mouth was hanging open, yes, but there was an obvious smile curling the corners and Dawn knew that Marianne never slept that openly with just anyone. Then there was Boggy and how peaceful he appeared. AS long as she knew them, he rarely fell asleep and now there he was cuddled into Marianne’s chest without nestling into her breasts, which was a very sweet gesture in her opinion. His arms were wrapped around her, that was another thing, he was actually embracing her and this wasn’t just some fall asleep and let gravity take it from there moment. Those two had intentionally lain on the couch that way. Which meant that…

Dawn gasped, her hands clapping against her cheeks. “MARIANNE WINIFRED SPRINGDALE!”

“WHAAA—”Marianne jolted, smacking herself in the face with the hand that had been hanging over the couch in her reflex and her other hand clutched to Bog’s shirt. She groaned after striking herself, rubbing her nose while Bog moaned, picking his head up and the two of them eventually pinpointed where Dawn was standing behind the couch, her eyes wide and still gawking down at them. “Jeez, Dawn!”

“Winifred?” Bog blinked up at Marianne and she sighed, the hand that had once been so tender against his back suddenly shoving into his face.

“We don’t talk about my middle name!” she hissed and Bog grunted at the palm still pressing into his face before she moved her hand away and he flopped his head down into her stomach. Marianne looked up at her while running her hand over his hair soothingly, probably to apologize for the face mashing while meeting her gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t heard from you in a week and that’s all you can say to me?” Dawn asked, pointing at herself before she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “I’ve been so worried about you, Marianne! I thought you might have staked Boggy for not liking you back and buried him in the back yard!”

“No, he still walks among the living.” Marianne patted the back of his head with something of an affectionate smile before it faded in favor of her previous grouse. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you every minute of every day this week, but really, we’re fine.”

“Fine?” Dawn braced her hands on her hips, her purse swinging and slipping off her shoulder from the abruptness of her shift in stance. It slid down her arm at an awkward trail before it dangled off her wrist and nearly touched the floor. “The last I heard from you, Boggy was out of town and you were getting drunk on your couch. Now I find you two cuddling on his couch like you’re…oh God--”

Dawn gasped again and her hands rose to her lips as she struggled to resist the smile that threatened to spread there. She was supposed to be mad right now! Mad at both of them for being so stupid together and not telling her that they were alright after Bog’s sudden departure and Marianne’s brush with depression. She didn’t think that her text had actually made something happen but apparently that had been the case! Marianne and Boggy must have talked it out and if that were true, combined with this couch cuddling, then maybe there was a God after all and the two were finally together, together! Giddiness swelled up, chasing her anger away but she tried to stand firm, clearing her throat and replacing her hands on her hips and tapping her foot for good measure to show her disappointment while the two still moaned and groaned about being woken up until her words finally seemed to reach through the Grog Fog.

“Oh—”Bog picked his head up from Marianne’s stomach and Marianne’s eyes widened a bit at the same time as the realization hit. Dawn nearly screamed when the two of them met one another’s gaze and exchanged silent words in a series of blinks and suddenly sheepish expressions. Dawn crossed her arms now and drummed her fingertips upon the sleeves of her white pea coat. Soon enough, their eyes turned back up to her and she could have sworn they rehearsed the next line out of their mouths by how perfectly synchronized they were when they spoke.

“We’re dating now.”

Bog looked contrite with his little smile while Marianne held her hands out in the air with an equally guilty smile as she started a little jazz hands wave. “Surprise?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this short little addition to the one-shots!


	11. Angles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn's asked Marianne to go dancing with her and invited Bog along too. Marianne is oddly okay with going but still grouchy because Dawn picked out her clothes for the evening, not that Bog's complaining.  
> Bog suffers some self-loathing issues and Marianne, being the awesome girlfriend she is, makes it all better.

Even in front of the doors the air was pulsating from the beat inside of Aura’s club _Dusted_. It was the ever-constant thump-thump-thump that seemed to accompany every song that played within a dance club in existence. The only blessing was that Plumm didn’t blare the music to insane decibels like most other places he had witnessed in his long life. The music was loud, of course, everything was loud to him. It just wasn’t so deafening that one couldn’t hear their companions speaking over the noise and conversation was managed without screaming one’s self hoarse. It was the only reason he chose her club over any other options between there and LA. Knowing Plumm for nearly half his immortality certainly wasn’t the reason he chose _Dusted_ over every other place. It was just less assault on his already traumatized ear drums. Everyone lost their hearing at that Deep Purple concert in 1972; even _he_ couldn’t recover from that day.

It was worth it.

Tonight’s motive for entering the club had nothing to do with his preferences. In fact it had nothing to do what he wanted at all. He didn’t need a retreat or a fresh blood supply thanks to Marianne’s ongoing generosity and he sure as hell wasn’t there to play Plumm a visit. This was a favor to Dawn, who asked for Marianne to join her for a night of dancing and, naturally, she wanted Bog to come as well. He didn’t want to face the crowds of a weekend night at club _Dusted_ but that was the only time Dawn had available and Marianne was oddly compliant to her sister’s wishes when she would have typically done everything in her power to avoid going before. Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn’t dodging Dawn’s attempts at fixing her up with random strangers anymore. Word had already spread around their small circle of acquaintances that they had officially began to “see” one another. Dawn even threw a surprise party for them that included special order poppers stuffed with glitter and foil paper streamers that nearly gave Marianne a heart attack when she snapped it in her face upon their walking into her apartment a few days after agreeing to give this dating thing a try.

“Ready to go in?” Marianne asked, indicating the double doors with her thumb over her shoulder.

“No, I’d rather stand on the curb and wait for the liquor truck to run me down.” He grumbled, glowering the metallic blue doors. The long line didn’t put either of them off, Marianne observing the stretch of human bodies extending down the block for a chance to dance the night away like everybody else. Bog stepped down into the street to emphasize on his preference of being hit by a truck when Marianne snickered, reaching out and hooking her finger above the top button of his shirt, slowly pulling him towards her. Even though she still stood on the sidewalk in heels he still had some height over her but willingly leaned into her beckoning.

“If I have to dress up and shake it like a Polaroid picture tonight, you’re suffering along with me.” She whispered with a deceptively alluring tone that veiled an underlying threat of ‘or else.’ Her eyes dropped a second before her fingers gave a little flick she popped the top button and Bog suddenly found it a little harder to swallow at the little smirk she gave him afterward. He stepped back up onto the sidewalk, letting her lead the way to the doors where the bouncer Phil was standing with his arms folded tightly across his chest, making his biceps bulge for the sake of intimidation. The sight of Bog resulted in him stepping aside, letting Marianne walk right past him and Bog sneering at the entrance as Marianne pushed the doors apart, standing in the opening with her hands bracing them apart at arm’s length and legs in a wide stance in an attempt to fill the doorway with her presence. “Let’s do this thing!”

Reluctantly moving forward, he pushed the doors open the rest of the way to let her through, noticing the eyes that had turned to Marianne’s proclamation now rising up to his level and the curiosity turned to surprise before attentions quickly returned to their partners, drinks, etc. Bog sighed and let the doors fall shut behind him as he followed Marianne inside and they walked straight into the cloud of music and smoke, Bog looming tall over most of the bodies obscured by the fog and lights. He kept close behind Marianne even though he knew the building intimately well at this stage in his life, always feeling the awkward crawl of nerves up his spine whenever he had to be out in public without the deception of his elderly disguise. Tonight he was exposed for his true self, his natural hair bleeding through the coloring they had neglected to touch up since Marianne had started researching wig alternatives.

“Do you see Dawn?” Marianne asked over the music, Bog glancing up and around the room for any sign of the younger Springdale sister.

The dance floor was filled with twisting and bouncing bodies constantly illuminated by colored lights that trailed all along the floor or flickered over the dancers. All hair and skin was concealed by a constant barrage of color, obscuring them into one simple mass of moving bodies, making it even harder to identify Dawn among the masses. He shook his head and Marianne groaned, elbowing her way through the people lingering around the fringes of the dance floor. Bog was sure she might have knocked a few drinks out of people’s hands in her haste, hiding the urge to chuckle at her determination as he continued to follow her until they reached the bar where Marianne stopped, glowering at the illuminated bar stools and then looking down at the short skirt of the black dress she had been forced to wear by the same person they couldn’t locate. Which was incredibly flattering on her, by the way. He had no trouble in appreciating the sleek fit of the black fabric and the high neckline made of black lace was helpful in hiding the healing bite marks from his most recent feeding rather well. Marianne appreciated it more on the hanger than when she had trudged out of her building in it but she always became grumpy whenever someone forced her into an outfit, even if it was out of her own selection.

Leaning over her after she had spent long enough glaring at the harmless stool, Bog laid a hand upon her shoulder. “Need any help?”

“I got this.” She shooed him off with the wave of her hand, going to the stool and hooking her heel over the lower ring before hoisting herself up and sitting down in one smooth motion onto the cushion. Her dignity was intact. As soon as she was seated, she crossed one leg over the other and spun about to face him, holding her hands out and wiggling her fingers. “Ta da!”

“Impressive,” he smiled, taking the stool beside her and sinking down on the cushion a mere bending of his knees. “Weren’t we supposed to be finding Dawn?”

“Ah,” she held up a finger, spinning to face the bar and plucking her phone out of her purse. “That’s what technology is for! At least the music is low enough she might be able to hear her phone go off here. Order me some girly drink to start me off with while I hunt her down, please?”

Bog smiled at the tacked-on please at the end and nodded, looking up in time to see the bartender stopping directly in front of Marianne with obvious interest, leaning a cocky elbow upon the bar top. Hackles immediately rose as Bog glowered at the man but the possessive reaction to another person’s appreciation in Marianne’s beauty fizzled as he realized how pathetically selfish the sensation had been. Men could look. There was nothing wrong with a man appreciating how attractive a woman was…so long as he didn’t touch. He rapped his knuckle upon the bar, catching the man’s attention and he slid over after seeing Marianne wasn’t ordering just yet.

“What’s the ‘girliest’ drink you have? Whatever it is, could you fix it up for her?” he nodded his head towards Marianne where she was preoccupied with calling Dawn. Bog might have been coming there for years but he never needed to order a drink, considering his situation. Plumm understood but sometimes her staff wasn’t clued in and they always became confused whenever he didn’t order anything for himself, especially in the past when he had to order drinks for women with embarrassing names. He’d never live down the day he had to order a “Screaming Orgasm.” He inwardly shuddered at the memory, his eyes catching the bartender surveying his face a moment, seeming to be guessing what it was he was up to. With an overconfident smirk, he leaned in a little closer. Bog frowned the moment he saw it curl the corner of the man’s mouth.

“Trying to lure her in with a little booze, huh?” he made a slight gesture towards a distracted Marianne then winked. “I’ll see what I got.”

Joke was on this smug bastard. There was no need to “lure her in.” Marianne had already made it clear that she liked him and he had reciprocated it after enduring the secret attraction for what felt like eons. (And for a man who lived a long time, that was quite a way to view time passing under that tension.) The bartender didn’t know that though. He assumed Bog was one of those vultures that spent their weekends hovering around clubs trying to lure in pretty girls with alcohol because his face wouldn’t do the job for him. His frown deepened as he looked down into the bar top, the polished surface exposing his vague reflection and the reminder of his own bone structure left him feeling the sting of his own lack-luster appearance.

“She’s on the other side of the room, apparently but she’s making her way over now.” Marianne announced, elbowing his arm to get his attention. Bog lifted his head immediately, hoping he buried the reservation deep enough for her not to catch any lingering effects. “Sunny is supposed to join us later with Lizzy to blow off some steam. Apparently the _Three Little Birds_ had a day to end all busy days and it’s left them all pretty grouchy.”

“Ah, well, nothing cures grouchiness like flailing to music all night.” Bog mused, concealing his ire as he held out an arm, indicating the dancers and drawing a smile across Marianne’s face.

“Or a healthy dose of blood.” She teased with a little tap of her finger on her beck and he laughed dryly just as a drink was placed in front of her.

“From the gentleman.” The bartender smiled, nodding at Bog and Marianne gave him a false smile, dragging the concoction closer and looking into the rainbow of colored liquor supported by a heaping helping of ice. Orange, Pineapple, and a cherry garnished it on a sword skewer, meaning it was probably supposed to have a tropical name. It was colorful, flashy, and hardly Marianne at all. She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“You asked for the girliest drink. This is what he had.” Bog defended himself but the smile barely left his face.

“It looks like Dawn threw up in the glass.” Marianne muttered, taking the garnish off and chomping down on the pineapple. “If I like it, I won’t stake you with this plastic sword.”  
“Death threats for doing as you asked?”

“I’m in a dress that wants to flash my underwear to the world every time I blink wrong and these heels are going to cripple me for the rest of the week. I can make death threats if I want to for what I’m putting up with tonight.”

“A wise woman once told me ‘mind over matter’.” He reminded her, lightly resting his hand on her wrist where her arm was propped on the bar.

“Sounds like a basket case to me.” She joked, turning her arm over to run her fingers into his palm before managing an awkward hand holding there on the bar. Her eyes drifted back to the dance floor to look for Dawn while she retrieved the next piece of garnish, tearing the orange slice from its peel and Bog felt an odd thrill at the almost vicious tear of her teeth into the fruit. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat in time for Dawn to finally appear. Even in the colorful lights dancing all around the room on and off the walls in flashes of brilliant hues she seemed to shine brighter than the rest of the crowd as she appeared, making a beeline for her sister.

“I finally found you!” Dawn grinned, Marianne twisting in the stool and letting Dawn hug her tight before the blond set her sights on him. He resigned himself to his impending fate and twisted from the bar, holding an arm out and she practically leapt into him with a squeal, embracing him tightly while he patted her back indulgently. She lingered a little longer than expected and for a moment his hand rest against the back of the younger sibling’s head in a fond but concerned gesture that left Marianne smiling softly to herself before her eyes lowered to her sister and they popped open wide.

“Dawn—what the _hell_ are you wearing?” she yanked Dawn back by her shoulder and Bog retracted his arms, hands hovering in the air while Marianne gawked at her sister’s choice in clothing for the night.

“Oh, it’s a new dress I picked up this week! Isn’t it cute?”

“It’s not a dress, it’s a _sock_!” Marianne’s mouth hung open at the tube dress clinging to Dawn’s body. Bog had noticed the sequins more than the actual fit of the dress and he realized the source of Marianne’s scandalized reaction right after he got past the dozens of sparkles winking in the lights. Her reaction was justified, it was a very tight, very short dress that he never would have pictured Dawn wearing even though she was a fully grown woman. Still, he heard warning alarms going off in his head at the idea of the blond facing the veracious wolves of the weekend crowd.

“You’re making such a big deal out of nothing! Most of the girls here are wearing something similar!” she rolled her eyes and Marianne groaned, hands dropping from her shoulders in defeat. “Come on, Marianne, don’t be a stick in the mud tonight. We’re here to have fun, remember?”

“Oh, I’m fun!” she stated, jabbing herself in the chest with her thumb. “I’m fun’s very soul! I’m fun incarnate!”

Bog chuckled as Dawn looked doubtful, earning a glare pointed in his direction and he choked on the laugh, clearing his throat immediately afterward just as Marianne pointedly held up the skewer with malicious intent. Once he fell silent, she put the sword back down and popped the remaining cherry in her mouth, stem and all. She worked it around a moment, chewing up the fruit then looking to Dawn as she discreetly removed the stem from between her lips and nodded to the dance floor much to her sister’s delight. Dawn squealed and Marianne took a pull on the straw of her drink. She looked contemplatively up at the ceiling while making a show of sloshing it about in her mouth before swallowing then nodded her head.

“It’s not bad so I guess I’m not killing you tonight.” She conceded, motioning for help and he held out his hand. She grasped it and pulled herself forward, sliding off of the stool to the floor. Dawn linked her arm with hers but Marianne resisted the pull to lean into him one more time, Bog craning down to make sure she could reach his ear. “Hold onto this promise for me.”

As she walked off with Dawn, Bog arched an eyebrow after the two, looking down at his hand and finding the cherry stem in his palm…tied in a knot. All the blood still circulating in his body rushed to two places at once and he closed his fingers around the knotted stem, propping the elbow of his other hand on the bar to shield his face with his hand to contain the obvious blush probably spreading there. His eyes darted to the crowd, watching for the two sisters while lowering his protective hand down to lay over the top of Marianne’s glass. The two didn’t go far into the crowd as another song began with a building tune with no beat just yet but the buildup was promising and Dawn was leading the way to the song with simple arm gestures until the beat finally dropped and Marianne was joining her in the unscripted dance entirely at the mercy of the music.

Marianne could dance, contrary to her own words, just as long as it was not with steps, which made this setting perfect for her lack of knowledge in the more structured dances of the world. Bog smiled to himself while she jumped, swayed, shook her hair out, twirled Dawn then came in close to her sister, shielding her from wandering bodies with her own. Dawn was glowing, her smile unceasing and it infected Marianne, even her dark lips bore the signs of enjoyment in the dancing and Bog sighed in relief. He might not have wanted to be there on a busy night but as long as Marianne enjoyed herself, it was worth it.

“Oh, I’ve seen that guy before.” He heard the words of obvious surprise above the din of the music and chatter. Bog glanced further down the bar in time to see two girls talking to one another. One was bleach blonde and sported the California tan but her smoky eyes were focused on him rather intently and he stiffened at the threat of recognition. He wracked his brain to see if this girl had been a previous donor, willing or drunken but he was coming up empty and nearly broke into a nervous sweat the longer she stared. When she realized he spotted her, she immediately looked away.

“Who?”

“The tall one at the other end of the bar.” The blond whispered, trying to tone down her voice but even with the music, he heard her all too clearly. Which he shouldn’t have been able to at this distance so he tried to assume the position of bored club hopper and leaned his elbow on the bar, keeping his attention on the dance floor as their talking resumed. Dawn and Marianne were still enjoying themselves, Dawn hopping up and down while Marianne threw her arms up over her head and swayed to the beat, eyes closed and mouth still carrying traces of a smile.

“Not much to look at, is he?”

The words snapped him back to the conversation.

“Nah, not really. I remember seeing him kind of hovering around the place before.” the first blond said with an obvious shrug probably thrown in there. “The guy was just kind of standing back and watching everything like he is now. No one asked him to dance or anything and the only girl I saw him talk to said that he’s even weirder up close.”

Bog flinched at the low blow to whatever ego he had left in that moment.

“I kind of feel sorry for him…it must be hard for him to, you know, meet anyone.” The other girl murmured.

Once again, his appearance seemed to be n ongoing handicap in public. It wasn’t his vampirism so much as his general appearance that kept people away even though he often preferred they kept their distance. He had been vaguely aware of his face being the source for all of the slow nights where donors were hard to find. A part of him already knew that he needed his “victims” to be drunk or high to even come near him long enough to feed but hearing people talk about him like this, seeing him as some human incapable of finding a relationship just felt that much keener than it had before.

His fingers tightened around the top of Marianne’s glass and he jumped when it shattered in his hand, the ice and liquor clattering and splashing onto the bar. He fumbled to gather up the debris while the bartender attacked the spill with towels and a quiet curse under his breath, Bog apologizing to deaf ears until he eventually gave up trying and stopped, letting the human take care of the mess and looking down into the hand that had been responsible. A few tiny shards were left embedded in his skin thanks to his thoughtless attempts to help clean up the shattered glass. He picked them free, dropping them into the base of the broken glass just as the barkeeper swept it off into a bucket. Tiny beads of blood welled up from where the glass had stuck, dark and lifeless compared to the bright red of a human’s fresh, oxygenated blood.

Blotting it with the paper square of a napkin off the bar, he closed it up in his fist to hold it there until the little pricks would stop bleeding. He shot a scathing glance back towards the girls that had stirred up his own self loathing to the point of his poorly controlled strength but they weren’t paying attention to him anymore. They were looking very pale-faced towards the dance floor and his anger faded into confusion when followed their gaze. Marianne was coming back from the dance floor and heading straight for him, her head up high, shoulders back and strut confident as she came to him and held out her hand. He eyed her outstretched fingers then her face, absently taking her hand and easing off of the stool. She hummed a low but happy note in her throat as she smiled; leading him back to the floor and he inwardly cringed at the idea of dancing right now.

Dawn welcomed him with a grin so wide he worried it might have hurt her face, her hands waving him in but Marianne turned his attention back to her, with a hand on his cheek. He tucked the napkin and cherry stem into his pocket. Dancing bodies brushed and bumped against then past him, leaving him feeling awkward by his own stillness in the middle of it all but Marianne seemed determined to fix that. She started to move, Bog’s eyes dropping to her hips that she moved smoothly to the music of a band long lost to the nineties but still found its way to the DJ’s list. She was really moving now, her hips matching the pulse of the song and her hands sought out his wrists, hooking fingers around them and pulling them toward her until she guided them to the sway of her hips and he shuddered, lips parting in awe at the feel of her body moving against his palms. It was the first time she had put his hands on her in spite of how flirtatious she had been towards him these days. Marianne came closer to him then, arms propping on his shoulders while she moved.

“It’s my turn to direct you.” She said with a smirk, slipping her hands down his arms then shifting them to his hips. They squeezed at the sharp points of his hip bones through his clothes before her palms lay flat over them. “Move your body with mine.” With gentle hands she guided him to begin moving his hips and he followed, ignoring the embarrassment of his own stiff movements in favor of the feel of her touch on him while his hands continued to ride her hips. He might have looked ridiculous trying to dance with her but the excuse to run his hands along Marianne’s body made his own silliness a small price to pay. He wasn’t the first awkward dancer in a club after all.

They danced together, Dawn joining them once Marianne was satisfied that he was moving enough and traded off with her sister. Bog kept his hands innocent when it came to the little blonde until they forgoed the typical club dance all together. Dawn knew footwork and she gave him the opportunity to manipulate the steps of an infinity of dances he knew to the music that surrounded them. Dancers parted for them in hurried, skittering steps as they circled and parted to the structure of an age old classic. The younger Springdale was an excellent confidence booster, some impressed whistles and claps helping him along until he was twirling Dawn in close then out at arm’s length. She pulled Marianne back in then and they resorted back into the typical club movements, the crowd drifting back in close to them. This time Marianne was rather possessive of him after his dance with Dawn and he savored the drag of her hands down his body when she sandwiched herself between him and Dawn.

He could feel the heat from the countless bodies around him, heart the heartbeats thrumming in his ears and calling to his instincts through the music but he focused on his partners, trying to ignore the urgent press of his fangs behind his lips. His self control was practically shattered, teeth biting down on his own lower lip when Marianne twisted about, putting her back against his chest and stomach and then brazenly sliding down his body in such a slow drag it left him forgetting to move aside from trembling where he stood. His hands were eager for her when she tortured him further with another aching glide back up his form, pulling his hands to her waist. All through her seduction she was face Dawn, dancing playfully with her innocent sister that was blissfully unaware of the utter torture she was inflicting on him on the other side of her form.

The air was tinged with sweat, perfume, cologne, body mists, and deodorants and he could smell Marianne’s acutely with her close proximity. God he loved that perfume he constantly told her not to wear! She finally granted him mercy after the third song had ended and the trio escaped the bodies to the safety of the walls where Dawn wiped at sweat on her forehead with a giggle. Marianne fanned herself with her hand, going wide-eyed by making a face that left the sisters laughing and Bog smiling to himself even though his body was so tense with want, he felt like just turning his head would break something. Even though she had been bloody fantastic at distracting him from his previous pity party, he needed a reprieve from her relentless teasing if he wanted to keep his fangs and other urges under control for the remainder of the evening.

“I see Sunny!” Dawn pointed towards the entrance and Marianne nodded, raking her fingers through her hair to push her bangs out of her face.

“Go, tell him and Lizzy I said hi but Bog and I need a breather…well, I need a breather anyway.” She waved her off and Dawn nodded, clicking off towards the front to greet her friends while Bog leaned back into the wall with a sigh. Marianne propped her palm on the surface, head bowing with a similar exhale that ended in a breathless laugh. He tilted his head back into the plaster, savoring the simple pleasure of breathing for a moment. His fangs were still prominent; he could feel them with his tongue after an experimental lick and grimaced. Until they were in control, he would have to be careful.

“I have to step out for a minute.” He said, lifting his head to look down at Marianne.

“Why?” Bog sneered, exposing one of the fangs and her eyebrows immediately shot up, her gaze rapidly peering around their surroundings to ensure no one else had seen. “Yeah, that would do it. Uh…is there anywhere more private you can go to? A bathroom or something?”

“Come with me,” he reached for her hand and she met him halfway, taking it and he guided her around the fringes of the dancers, past the bar and up the stairs to the next level of the club. More people were drinking and bobbing to the music on the exposed second story but Bog passed them without a word, ignoring the clearly labeled bathrooms for another door off behind them. With a testing twist, the door opened and he rolled his eyes. Aura had probably left it unlocked because she knew he was coming tonight. Sometimes he really hated how accurate her predictions were sometimes.

Opening the door, he guided Marianne inside and shut it directly after her. Reaching over he flipped the light on, exposing the small room draped in different chiffon fabrics to create an almost fortune-teller-esque vibe with an ornate desk and soft chairs flanking the walls. Call him shocked that none of the people in the club had attempted to take over the room for themselves yet in the cluttered chaos that was on the other side of the door. Marianne glanced up at the draped fabrics then looked at him with a quirked eyebrow and he nodded in understanding.

“Plumm has a habit of overdoing _everything_ , especially her decorating.” Bog explained, leaning back into the door while Marianne observed the room. “This is her office. She only uses it in the afternoon but she leaves it unlocked in case I or any of my own need a private place for feeding. Most of the time people assume couples are sneaking off up here for a little tryst so I apologize for potentially denting your reputation if anyone saw you.”

Marianne shrugged her shoulders, fingers going to her neck thoughtfully as she observed the desk and flicked at a tassel hanging from the desk lamp. She looked her fill and he took advantage of the privacy to start calming himself down. It was hard because he had the woman that had caused all of this tension in the first place standing in the same room as him but so long as she maintained that curiosity with the furnishings and her distance, he was certain he could manage. Dawn might think they skipped out on the rest of the night if they took too long up here.

“Are your fangs still giving you problems?” Marianne asked, tracing a gold pattern on one of the fabrics hung down the wall with her finger.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a huff. “You got me a little excited while we were down there.”

“Oh?” she arched an eyebrow. “So…the fangs are kind of a vampire’s equivalent of an erection?”

Bog must have been blushing again by now; his face might have even warmed up a bit too. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“That’s kind of flattering, actually.” Marianne admitted, approaching him now. His gaze followed her raising hands as they reached up to touch the sides of his face. His damn bony face…

His hands jumped up, taking her wrists to stop her as he sucked in a quick breath. Bog held them away from where they had nearly touched his skin. “Marianne…”

She surprised him by rolling her eyes and flicking at his cheekbone from where he had been holding her hands up. Apparently he hand’s pulled them far enough. Bog flinched at the tiny strike, looking down at her, puzzled as she huffed her bangs out of her eyes. She shook her head, and pulled her hands away, laying her palms over his chest. He could see the fire in her topaz gaze when she narrowed her eyes up at him, sighing.

“This has something to do with what those girls at the bar were talking about, doesn’t it?”

“What?” he stiffened.

“It does, I can see it in your face!” she frowned, pointing a finger up at him. “I saw them looking at you while they were talking. I should have knocked their heads together when I had the chance!”

“Marianne—“

“They were making fun of you, weren’t they?” she demanded, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder.

“Not exactly…but, Marianne, I’m not a child who has been teased in the school yard. I don’t need you to defend my honor, Tough Girl.” He cupped her shoulders affectionately while she seethed, lightly rubbing his thumbs into the exposed skin there. The gentle circles of his fingers soothed her anger but she still appeared irritated when she peered back up into his face.

“It’s the older sibling in me. I can’t help it.” Marianne sighed, letting him massage the anger out of her. She looked at her hands still on his chest, balling them into fists over the fabric. “I know what you look like, Bog. I’ve felt the bones of your skull with my own hands for years. I know the exact length of your nose, the degree of your cheekbones. My hands know your face better than anyone else’s I’ve ever worked on! Your face is all I’ve seen since I met you and I adore every sharp angle of it, you damn mosquito!”  


He smiled when she met his gaze, her passion inspiring as she reached up for his face again, smoothing the pads of her thumbs over the sharp projections of his cheekbones. His smile must have looked ridiculous; a goofy love-sick grin with a pair of fangs thrown in the mix but it only seemed to draw her in closer. Her eyes softened, lips quirking in a small smile.

“I believe I gave you a promise earlier...”

The warmth in her voice melted his reserve and he nodded, fishing in his pocket and holding up the knotted stem. Marianne smiled at the sight of it and looped her arm around his neck, one hand still against his cheek when he leaned down and kissed her without hesitation. He dropped the stem in favor of wrapping his arm around her back, the other hand cupping her neck over the lace of the dress’s collar, his thumb slipping up the shape of her jaw until it settled beneath her chin and angled her head further back as he slanted his mouth over her willing lips.

They had kissed before. Plenty of times now, in fact. His first kiss had been chaste, brief as the blink of an eye. The second with her had been all her doing and he had practically devoured her mouth that day on the kitchen floor in the heat of the moment. Since they had established this dating situation, kisses had been quick and flirtatious but his confidence seemed to suffer from being out of practice. He had the curse of second-guessing himself all of his eternal life but now, with Marianne’s confidence in him and her genuine adoration for his pointed face, those second-guesses seemed to fade from existence completely. It was just him and this amazing woman he found slumped before a studio gateway three long years ago. The longest years he ever had to live through because he had to wait. For her.

Bog held her tight and felt her exhale soft and warm against his tepid skin when she parted her lips, seeking his mouth again before he could draw away. Her tongue touched against his lip with an eager bite at the sensitive skin that followed and he nearly smiled, letting her through and feeling the experimental flick of the tip against his. His hands drifted to her waist again, spreading wide across her sides and thumbs against ribs. The glide of his hands whispered over the material of her dress and she twined her fingers into his hair with a tight grip but didn’t pull on it.

He let her tentatively lap at his tongue again, felt the curious prod at his fang. Chuckling low in his throat, he closed his mouth, teasingly biting at her tongue with the tip of the fang but with practically no pressure behind it, leaving her gasping at the sensation and her arm tightening, trying to pull him down closer. She surged into him, forcing him back against the door again and they broke apart in breathless laughter at her eagerness, Bog cradling her side to side while she groaned in embarrassment, face buried in his shirt.  


Marianne recovered quickly, craning up on her toes and kissing his lips in a brief peck. One turned into two, two became three, and then they were suddenly at it again, Marianne on her toes, hands clutching and dragging him down to her level. So much for trying to calm himself down. This wasn’t helping in the slightest. He nearly laughed at the poor attempt at composing himself but he was too distracted with kissing her. It was becoming a blur of lips, tongue and the catching of his fangs against her lower lip, teasing the skin and releasing it before he could risk actually _biting_ it.

The breathless moan that escaped her parted lips nearly did him in and he clenched his teeth, needing just a second to get a grip while she caught her breath, forehead against his temple. In a few ticks he was kissing at her cheek and she swept back in, not wasting time to seek out his lips again. Fingers ground into his hair, dragging nails down to his neck and down his back, sending shivers down his spine while his palm flattened against the base of her spine, pushing her in, pushing his leg between hers and ignoring the feel of the skirt tensing then rolling on his thigh where it pushed it up.

Her heartbeat was pounding in his ears, erratic and heightening when his hands slid to her hips, gently squeezing the swell of them and raking his nails back up the fabric of the dress. She sighed into his mouth, legs weakening and leaving her straddled on his thigh, her leg nearly brushing the front of his pants and he groaned as he realized how dangerously close to too far they were going too fast. He reluctantly straightened up, easing his leg away and she stood on her own feet without a word, kissing his lips with gentle pecks that relayed a sense of understanding behind the action. Bog’s eyes opened when he hardly even realized they had been closed, meeting her heady gaze as she smiled up at him. There was evidence of that passionate fire still in her but her expression had softened with a heart-ripping tenderness that left him nearly weak-kneed at the thought that this woman could bestow such an expression upon him through all of that heat.

Holding his face in her hands again, she kissed his lips in a peck. She angled his head down a bit, pressing her lips to his right cheekbone and then his left, dragging an open mouthed kiss over his gaunt cheek then pecking the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes, feeling the graze of her lips on his chin and his jaw, lovingly kissing all of the hard angles of his face that had been so detrimental to his appearance for centuries. His dead heart felt like it was swelling in his chest, threatening to burst as he lowered his head and she let him lean his forehead against her shoulder, the heat of their kisses cooling to a cozy warmth as he let his hands linger against her sides, Marianne still keeping an arm around his neck, the other hand soothingly stroking his hair.

“Don’t doubt me, Bog.” She murmured, kissing his temple. “This face is why we met and I don’t want you to regret it, because that’s the same as regretting us ever meeting.”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her tightly and giving her a squeeze that she returned around his neck with another kiss upon the temple. She wasn’t angry that he had stopped, nor was she embarrassed by his moment of weakness in light of her affection for him. God what he wouldn’t give to have been that strong for her when she needed him weeks ago.

After a beat of holding her, he finally drew back, Marianne smiling thoughtfully up at him and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think we should go back downstairs before Dawn thinks we ran off to canoodle…which I guess we sorta did so she would be right.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, fingers rubbing the back of his neck.

“Think you can retract your fangs now that you’re not so sexually frustrated now?” she mused, folding her arms.

“Of course,” he cleared his throat and focused on willing them away, Marianne patiently waiting while he began the process of pulling them back. Eventually they started to recede and he ran his tongue over them, finding their normal length at last before giving Marianne the thumbs up. Pushing away from the door, he flicked the light back off and opened it up for her, Marianne hesitating before going back out into the haze of smoke and lights.

“Try to keep it together down there, Bat Man.” She instructed with a scolding finger before she dropped it to her side and ran her hands over her hair to make sure it was in some semblance of normalcy before she walked out of the office, Bog following shortly after but he bore a smug smirk all the way down. He wasn’t going to tell her that he knew she was just as riled up inside now as he was. Or that she was still blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marianne noticed the girls talking about Bog. The reason they had gone pale was because Marianne was glaring daggers at them and making some gestures their way that clearly suggested physical harm that scared them pretty good before Bog noticed. Marianne can be a master of subtlety sometimes, other times...not so much.  
> So, Yay for mutual make-outs and taking advantage of Aura's office!
> 
> Music used to inspire dancing in this chapter:  
> atomic - she ((Used when Dawn and Marianne first dance together.))  
> Move Your Body - eiffel 65 ((When Marianne gets Bog dancing.))  
> If We Ever Meet Again - Timbaland (featuring Katy Perry) ((I liked listening to this when Bog and Marianne were alone in Plumm's office together.))


	12. Dishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne is the only one in Bog's house that needs to do dishes and she's done them hundreds of times. This time, however, she gets a bit distracted.

Marianne hated doing the dishes.

Even though she wasn’t even in her own apartment, she was still left to the menial task of cleaning up her messes in Bog’s kitchen. He hadn’t helped her with a single spoon and she hated that his argument was valid. Bog didn’t need dishes because he didn’t eat, so every dirty dish that ever manifested in his house was all on her. Just like the recycling of her traditional coke bottles and taking out the trash when shark week came around, Marianne had to clean up after the inconvenience of her humanity. Anything she sullied by her own hands was her responsibility to clean. Except the shower! Bog was utter shit at cleaning his shower.

Gathering up her dinner dishes from the table, Marianne dumped them into the sink. The clatter of the porcelain and metal was thunderous and she smirked to herself when she heard Bog shouting down the hallway for her to keep it down. Snatching up the pan from the stove, she suspended it over the sink and let go of the handle. The resulting clang and rattle of the dishes already there made her flinch but she stifled a snicker when Bog’s frustrated groan echoed through the doorway. Silently laughing to herself, Marianne started adding to the pile with more subdued gestures. She added the little pot from her pasta along with the spatula, chopping knife, and the little cutting board. It formed a pretty decent mound in the sink that threatened to stand higher than the water could reach. It was a decent load but Marianne had forgotten until that moment that she hadn’t stopped up the drain before slinging the cookware in.

“Shiiiiit.” She started wriggling her hand through the mess to the bottom of the basin and twisting the plastic knob of the stopper, smiling to herself when she felt it drop down. Manipulating around the knife’s blade, she started up the water, keeping her eye on the knife while reaching for the dish soap. Leave it to a vampire to not have a dishwasher. Marianne had to do them by hand every time since she started cooking for herself in his house and she could think of a dozen other things she would have rather been doing aside from a household chore.

While the sink started to fill, she fished a washcloth from a side drawer to work on cleaning up the counter space she used along with a spot of sauce on the stovetop. Passing the cloth under the running water, Marianne scooped up a handful of suds and worked it into the terrycloth with her fingers, checking on the depth of her dishwater to ensure she still had time. With the sink barely half full, she scrubbed at the spot on the stove, wiping the counter clear of any crumbs or smears left behind from the previous meal. By the time she had managed to get a bit of onion over the stubborn lip of the stove’s design and into her palm, the sink was full.

Switching off the tap, Marianne submerged the cloth in the hot water, gingerly feeling through the fabric for the knife and pulling it out of the suds, wiping it clean and setting it aside in the companion sink. Without a sharp object to potentially slice her finger open—though Bog would have probably been perfectly fine with that—Marianne plunged her hands back in freely, grabbing the drink glass and working her hand into it with the washcloth. She traced the interior bottom of the glass with her nails through the washcloth in a full circle and pulled the cup free, sloshing water about while pouring out any lingering contents back into the dish bath.

“Aaaaand I forgot to get out the dish drainer.” She sighed, dropping the cup into the sink with the knife and slapping the washcloth wetly upon the countertop.

Shaking out her bubbly hands, Marianne stooped down and swung open a cabinet door, snatching the drainer out from its hiding place and setting it up beside the sink. Switching the mouth of the faucet to the partner sink, Marianne rinsed off the cup and knife, standing them up in the slotted plastic to drip-dry until she was ready to actually tackle manual drying with a dishtowel later. For now she just needed to finish washing and rinsing, dry the lot, put it away, and then she could hunt down Bog and haul him off for disaster film classic, Twister. She had been wanting to relive that nostalgia trip for weeks and she finally remembered to unearth it from her collection tonight. Bog promised to abandon his work and watch it with her as soon as she finished her dishes so she needed to get cracking!

Wrangling with a stubborn bit of goo wedged between the prongs of her dinner fork, Marianne was so focused in drowning the stupid cutlery she didn’t hear Bog enter the kitchen. She had been completely oblivious to him up until the point she felt his hands clapping down on her shoulders. The sudden touch had her nearly jumping out of her skin, jerking her head around. She had wielded the fork in her hand, ready to thrust it into her attacker’s eye until the lukewarm touch of his skin reminded her that it was friend, not foe. Well, more than a friend at this point thanks to her bullheaded stubbornness. Could she get a “Boo-yah” for diligence?

“Hey,” she relaxed as the initial shock ebbed away, smiling to herself when he leaned into her back, his chin on the top of her head with a low rumble in his throat that was meant acknowledge her greeting. He was always tired after dealing with the hospital paperwork and she could feel it in the sag of his body down to the point of his sharp chin currently digging into her scalp. “I thought you were working until I finished.”

“You’re taking too long.” He stated, his chin flexing against her skull when he spoke and she ducked her head out from under it.

“For a vampire, you’re pretty impatient.” She chuckled as she continued to work on the fork, lifting it up and checking for the stubborn spot. To her relief, it had finally come clean. She plunked it into the other sink in favor of her plate, hands disappearing beneath the bubbles again to seek it out.

“A side effect of human exposure, I’m sure.” He kissed the top of her head.

She expected him to go sit at the kitchen table and wait for her to finish. He used to keep her company like that in their earlier days but tonight he seemed to have other plans. Bog’s hands slid from her shoulders and down her arms, fingers almost cool compared to the dishwater when they trailed off the sleeves of her shirt and along her skin. A pleasant chill ran down her spine and she leaned back into his chest a bit, fingers working with the dinner plate and washcloth to scrub away her sauce smears. His fingers were nearly in the water when they shifted course, palms sliding back up her arms and over her shoulders, trailing to her sides. Marianne smiled, shutting her eyes when she could feel every little bump those hands met from the natural folds and wrinkles in her clothes when they lowered over her sides.

Okay, she was getting a little too into his touching. She forced herself to stand straight again, eyes popping back open scrubbing at the plate vigorously. Rinsing it and the fork, she set them aside in the drainer. She still had the spatula, the pot, the pan, and the cutting board left but Marianne’s progress was becoming increasingly hindered by a certain vampire intruder.

His hands moved back up her sides, catching and dragging up her shirt a bit but not enough to actually intend to remove it, much to her silent disappointment. The slow drag of his hands made her quiver again, dropping the spatula back into the water and biting back a curse when she tried to fish it back out again. She leaned a knee into the cabinet under the sink to keep herself steady when he ran his hands over her back. Suddenly his nails were lightly scratching through the material of her shirt and she gasped, arching into them. Dropping her head down, she felt his fingers against her shoulder blades, scratching at them with soothing circles.

“A little to the left.” Marianne coached, a chuckle behind her following the adjustment of his fingers and she groaned in relief at the graze of his nails in the demanding sweet spot. She kicked her foot a bit, mimicking a dog and Bog chortled again, smoothing his palms over the thoroughly scratched spot, he pressed his thumbs into her muscles and another groan escaped her. Impromptu back scratches and a little rub down. Always appreciated! Way to take care of your human, Bat Man!

She weakly tried to keep washing but she didn’t even remember what she had been trying to scrub at this point when his hands traced over her shoulders and down her arms again. This time they slipped into the water, lacing his fingers with hers, halting all progress entirely and Marianne felt his body envelope hers, tapping her against the lip of the sink. He snuck a kiss to her temple, thumbs tickling against her palms still submerged in the warm water.

“You smooth—I don’t want to wash anymore!” She whined, itching to get her hands on him with the same enthusiasm. He was dangling the carrot and she was the rabbit jumping to bite it but the bastard had her trapped between a proverbial rock and a hard place.

“You have to,” he said teasingly near her ear. “We agreed you’d get your movie time after you finished the dishes.”

“But you’re distracting me—FUCK, BOG!” she gasped when his tongue lightly flicked against her earlobe. “Since when did you suddenly become fucking Casanova?!”

Marianne wasn’t complaining, she liked it when he cuddled and kissed her, even teased her by his own will but where the hell did her awkward dork go? Bog had been so shy when he first kissed her. It had taken several reassuring kisses and encouragement to get him to open up to kissing her without asking first. Since then, he had completely switched gears and Marianne got whiplash by how fast their positions turned around on occasion.

“Less talking. More washing.” He urged; squeezing her hands and letting them go. 

Sure. She’d get right on that as soon as he stopped distracting her!

No such luck because Bog’s hands, now warmed over from the dishwater were skimming back up her arms again; leaving wet trails in their wake. He left marks in her shirt when he wrapped his arms around her waist, chin over her shoulder now, little spatters of water hitting the floor where it still dripped form his fingers. She tried to turn her head, wanting a kiss and he obliged, craning his neck and kissing her waiting mouth with a gentle peck that left her nearly whining again when he drew away. He kissed at her neck with gentle lips, Marianne squirming and dropping her next dish back into the water for the sake of grasping the sides of the sink when his hands slipped beneath her shirt. The touch of his hands, slippery from the soap and still wet enough to slicken his path, made her jolt back into him with a hitched breath.

“Oh---“ her head fell back on her shoulders, mouth falling open at the tender touches of his fingers making sodden trails along her skin, slipping up to beneath her ribs then higher to the point of nearly touching the underwire of her bra before they slid back down. The damn tease!

“You stopped washing.” He reminded her, lips lingering on her neck and she felt the graze of his teeth. Bog wouldn’t bite her, it hurt too much still to be considered an object of pleasure but she certainly liked the feel of the fangs when they grazed her skin, the little nip of his teeth that was too weak to pinch or puncture. It was a very human kind of kiss with the added bonus of fangs and she indulged in it willingly.

Marianne tried to lift her head back up, her hand blindly feeling the edge of the basin then plunking down into the suds. She managed to find the handle of the pot, picking it up and dumping the water out of it but it slipped free when his hands skimmed back up her stomach, settling over one cup of her bra with barely a touch. Just knowing his hand was there but not having the satisfaction of actually feeling it on her skin made a strangled noise hitch in her throat. The pad of one finger just barely touched her skin over the edge of the bra and she was done.

Okay, fuck the dishes!

She reached up over her head, water dripping down her arm and over them when she reached behind Bog’s head, slipping her fingers into his hair. His breath escaped in a huff against her neck and she heard a growl in his throat when he straightened up, Marianne letting her hand fall free from his hair. He slipped his hands free and backed off enough for her to turn around, slapping her wet palms on either side of his face. He jolted at the sudden onslaught of moisture before she was yanking him down, claiming his evasive lips for herself at last. She overpowered him with her kiss, hands clawing down his chest and he groaned into her mouth. He gathered her up into his arms, hoisting her up onto the edge of the sink, her jeans picking up some of the moisture that had been sloshed around since Bog had started fooling around with her.

Spreading her knees apart, she pulled him in between them with eager hands, tonguing one of his elongated fangs and slipping free of the kiss. When she looked into his face, a hand jumped to her mouth as she realized that she had left soapy trails on his cheeks, bits of suds catching on the stubble, a drop of water dripping free of his chin as he stared at her, his hands bracing on either side of her on the counter. Snickering into her palm, Marianne reached out and wiped some away with a sweep of her thumb.

Bog leaned into her hand, his gaze affectionate, amused even but it didn’t take a genius to realize he was also very turned on right now. The fangs were a dead give-away, not to mention she hadn’t missed feeling the firmness in the front of his jeans when he first slipped in between her legs. His fang-rection was all the proof she needed but the actual hard-on was an added bonus. At least she knew that this wasn’t just a ploy to distract her from her chore. He genuinely wanted her.

Marianne flushed from her ears to her collarbone, aroused and flattered by his attraction to her when she had been doing something as mundane as the dishes merely moments ago. Her fingers touched at his jaw and coaxed him back to her. He kissed her with a sweep of his lips that consumed her in one smooth motion, her arms wrapping tight around his neck to pull him close. Bog’s hands clutched her sides, thumbs under her breasts and fingers around her ribcage. She nearly slid right off of the counter until he stepped up into it, bracing her there and she ground into his hips, hooking her legs around the backs of his thighs.

“Mari!” he gasped half of her name into her mouth and she closed her teeth over his lower lip with a teasing bite.

“Not so smug now, are you?” she was breathless between her words, his lips drawing smaller kisses from her, lingering longer and longer until he pressed into her core with a slow rotation of his hips. She had to jolt her head back, hissing between her teeth at the friction of him grazing against her. Was that wetness in her panties from the sink or was it her own fault? She wriggled a little and her face burned hotter at the realization.

Yep. Definitely not the sink…hoo-boy…Roland never scored anything on the wet panty scale. Guess that made Bog a perfect ten then. Heh. Suck it, Roland!

Marianne trailed kisses to his jaw, biting at the obvious line of his mandible only to cringe at the taste of dish soap. Okay, maybe not the best idea but it sounded good at the time. Bog certainly enjoyed it, a low pleasured groan vibrating in his throat and down so deep into his chest that she could feel it where her fingers were clinging to him. The sudden thrust of his hips into hers forced another gasp out of her, hands jumping to his shoulders and he encircled an arm behind her, she could feel it against her waist just above her hips. He pulled her in and she met him this time, grinding into the ridge with a shaken moan.

Their kissing turned into a game of hit and miss. Lips were off center, Marianne getting a scratchy mouthful of chin, Bog bumping into her cheekbone with his nose. He was so wrapped up in the tempo of their rhythm that Bog was nearly forgetting to even keep up the charade of breathing. Silent pauses staggered his inhales and exhales, creating brief moments of silence between their panting that were only punctured by a constant thumping noise coming from under her hips. His knee was hitting the cabinet door and it rattled from his kneecap bumping into it with every thrust as she practically rode him while half sitting on the sink. The friction was delicious and she could feel it down to her core, every scrape hitting home and she felt almost over-sensitized with every thrust of his hips. The man hadn’t even touched her below the waist aside from a hand finding its way to her thigh and yet she was dancing on the edge of an orgasm from practically dry humping him!

Man, it really had been a while for her, hadn’t it?

It hit her suddenly, startling her into a sharp intake of breath that stung when it filled her lungs but slipped back out with a slow, satisfied exhale. Marianne slumped into his chest feeling practically boneless from the waist down and Bog gave a breathless chuckle, pressing a kiss to her hair when she laid her head on his shoulder. For just a bit of fondling and shameless dry humping, Marianne was pleased as fucking punch to have experienced her first orgasm with Bog. And fully clothed on the kitchen sink none the less! Chalk up another point to the vampire on this one.

Marianne lazily stroked his hair, twisting a few strands at the nape of his neck between her fingers. She could still feel the rigidity of him through his pants and the cold realization that she had completely neglected pleasing him through the whole encounter left her feeling ashamed. She was still feeling a bit dazed from her own release but she couldn’t just leave him hanging! To make amends, she slipped her free hand down his chest and twisted her wrist, fingers slipping over the bulge and giving it a gentle caress. His hips jerked into her hand and Bog was suddenly holding her at arm’s length. She raised an eyebrow at him, hand still frozen where she had felt him up.

“We have to take care of you, too.” She barely moved when his hand was around her wrist, drawing it away.

“I’m fine!” he said quickly, glancing at the sink she was still sitting on and nodding his head at it. “What about those, anyway?”

Marianne looked down at the dishwater thoughtfully. She dipped her hand in, swirling her fingers around in the water. It was starting to get cold now and most of the bubbles had popped. A smirk crossed her lips as she got an idea, eyes rising back to his face. “I can still help with that.”

He raised an eyebrow and Marianne cupped her hand in the water. With a swipe of her hand, she splashed a wave of the liquid at Bog, soaking the front of his shirt down to his thighs. Of course she managed to soak one of her pant legs in the process but the shocked gasp he made and leap back from the counter had been so worth it! He peeled his shirt away from his belly with a grimace. Nothing to be done about soaking wet jeans but it looked like his neglected erection was no longer a problem.

“That’s one way to do it.” He contributed dryly, offering up a wry smile.

“Always happy to help! Now get me down from here. My legs are literally jelly right now thanks to you.”

Marianne’s legs were practically useless when he helped her down from the counter. Her knees were weak from the unexpected orgasm and Bog had been nice enough to help her finish up, placing dishes into the drainer for her after she rinsed them while half propped up by the counter until she had enough bones back in her limbs to stand upright on her own. They abandoned the dishes in the drainer and finally watched Twister sprawled out on Bog’s couch still in their wet clothes. It was damp, it was uncomfortable, but hey, she had just taken a big step in their relationship and best of all, she didn’t have to put away the dishes!

Well, okay, maybe dishes weren’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SUCK AT MATURE STUUUUUUUUFFFFFFF!


	13. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Halloween is actually almost a year after Bog and Marianne got together. (They started going out last winter in this timeline.)  
> Dawn puts a Halloween touch on Bog's house.  
> Sunny deserves more time than he gets in this chapter. (I'm sorry, Sunny!)  
> This chapter might be a little weird because Bog is in his old age make-up...just warning you now.

“Dawn, I have to admit, I didn’t think you had a dark bone in your body.” Marianne commented, folding her arms as she stared up at the Victorian with an appreciative nod.

“I have to be open to whatever my client wants, Marianne.” Dawn stated matter-of-factly, mirroring her sister’s stance while smiling proudly up at her work.

Standing back behind the Springdale sisters, hands folded over the top of his amber-headed cane, Bog allowed himself an affectionate smile to pull at the corner of his mouth. He looked upon the two siblings, Marianne’s dark hair beside Dawn’s bright blonde, two creatures of the same bloodline and yet infinitely different. He shifted his fingers over one another on the cane, rubbing his thumb across the smooth exterior of the amber orb housing the replica mosquito while turning his gaze back to his elaborately decorated home.

Every Halloween since he had moved into the area, Bog had always left his house alone. Even during the Christmas season, the old house remained devoid of decoration for decades. It didn’t matter how much Marianne griped at him for not using the architecture and reputation of his home to his advantage when she first discovered this habit. It wasn’t until last year that he had finally conceded to open his house to Trick or Treaters and it had been slim pickings thanks to his long-standing reputation. Doug had returned with his practically terrified friends at his side and Bog secretly preened at their pale faces behind their poorly applied costume make-up while Doug casually greeted him and nonchalantly held open his bag for a candy deposit before nudging his friends to do the same.

This year, however, Dawn had put her foot down after hearing of their meager attempt at decoration the previous year. Now that word had spread he was opening his door to the children out for free candy, more people were probably going to come this year and she wanted to make sure that they were not disappointed when they arrived on his doorstep. It took an afternoon of Dawn arguing over the idea with him in his study, showing him drafts of her plans over sketches of his house that she had skillfully drawn out herself. He had frowned up at her over his glasses while observing one rendition of a pirate ship appearing to be ripping through the front of his house and dismissed the idea with a scoff but Dawn was not deterred.

_A few Jack O’ Lanterns and the porch light on does not a Halloween make!_

He snickered to himself at her argument now but at the time he had been startled by the scolding he received from the otherwise unassuming blond. Dawn had a right fire to her that she could use whenever provoked; a fierce determination that nearly rivaled Marianne’s hidden by a sweet-faced exterior. After a weary Bog finally gave her the permission and the budget she needed, Dawn took free reign of decorating his home and Marianne had expressed concern the moment she spotted her sister as she danced out of his study with his check book in her hand. There was a general questioning of his sanity at first until Marianne reluctantly admitted that Dawn might have been a child trapped in a young adult’s body but she could be professional whenever if came to her profession.

The final result left them both pleasantly surprised.

The otherwise sturdy house now looked dilapidated with false beams seemingly collapsed through the porch ceiling, leaving gaping holes in the exterior roof that were expertly blackened out with glowing eyes peering from the depths. Spider webs intricately weaved through and over the porch railing and broken glass effects that Dawn had planted over the existing window panes made his windows appear broken through and shattered in random places. Dawn had worked diligently on her project while Sunny had been tasked with all of the work involving ladders at Marianne’s unmoving insistence. She drew the line at Dawn going up onto the roof but she was free to direct him from below. Pare had come over to help during his mornings off and Bog called in Thang a few times as well, Stuff appearing right at his side without prompting to aid in whatever Sunny couldn’t quite get on his own.

Dawn had turned Bog’s dark home into a truly haunted Victorian house and she had accomplished it in the span of a few days after October began. A series of gravestones and even a mausoleum had been created to the left side of the house; realistic tombstones that ranged from standing straight to crumbling epitaphs bearing illegible names formed a family graveyard complete with a dead tree, wrought iron fence and a crooked gate. False but deceptively so vines clung possessively to the right end of the house, bones of small animals on special order from Dapper Cadaver trapped in their clutches revealing the demise of unfortunate critters and pets that had been ensnared by their tendrils.

It had been the talk of the neighborhood since Dawn finished it a week after the first stake had been hammered into the ground. Now that it was officially Halloween, Dawn had given the green light for the final touches to be added to the house. It was simple, a project that only took a few hours, but it was traditional.

Bog’s steps were dressed with four pumpkins contributed by Marianne, Dawn, Sunny, and the man himself. The carving of the pumpkins themselves had been nothing short of a mess and Bog could still smell the pumpkin bits in his kitchen after the carving party had set up shop all over the tile floor. Different faces from Dawn’s traditional Jack O’ Lantern to scary manipulations done at Marianne’s hand and a goofy face that was Sunny’s handiwork led to Bog’s poorly executed Pumpkin Masters design of a grimacing skeleton. All four stood on either side of each step, candles waiting to be lit at the first touch of nightfall.

“I told you I could make this place creepier.” Dawn grinned.

“Much more convincing this year, eh, boss?” Marianne asked, craning her head and arching an eyebrow at him.

“It is,” he confirmed, using the cane for its purpose and slowly approaching the girls. “I congratulate you on a job well done, Dawn.”

“I’m so glad you like it!” Dawn grinned, dropping her smugness in an instant and suddenly wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. Had he truly been as old as he looked, the strength behind that hug would have effectively snapped his spine by now. Bog grunted at the tightness of her hold on him but patted her back indulgingly.

“Ah—Dawn, don’t break the client, yeah?” Marianne tapped her sister’s shoulder and Dawn drew back with a giggle. “We need to get you in your costume. I’ve been drafted to do everyone’s make-up for tonight and we might as well get it over with.”

“Right! We only have a few hours before the Trick or Treaters start to show up!” Dawn gasped, her hands clapping against her cheeks before Marianne started steering her towards the house.

Bog spotted her glancing over her shoulder again. She rolled her eyes but her smile was warm and Bog chuckled to himself, following the sisters back into the house just in time to see Sunny jumping out of the way before the two could run him over in their scramble to get up the stairs. There was no guessing where they were heading. His poor make-up room was no longer sacred ever since word got out to Dawn of what he was. He had kept it well-stocked but drew the line at purchasing glitter products. That was a purchase as needed requirement and Dawn was charged with cleanup if she rained the sparkles on anything in his house.

“What has Dawn picked this year?” Bog asked after Sunny recovered from his near collision with the girls, indicating he walk with him down the hallway.

“Dawn was a fairy princess five years in a row when we were kids. She only stopped because her sixth year the costume didn’t fit her anymore.” Sunny explained with a smile. “They found the adult alternative so, naturally, Dawn jumped at the chance to wear it this year.”

“A fairy princess…it seems to fit.” He admitted, the two entering the living room where he could see Evil Dead paused on the television. Marianne had been watching it with Sunny since they had finished the pumpkins and Dawn had begged out of it, finishing the final touches on Bog’s costume where the online provider had neglected his arm measurements yet again. They barely covered his wrists upon the first trial of the costume but she insisted that she could fix it and that afternoon had revealed that everything was indeed in order. “What about you?”

“A garden gnome.” Sunny stated, “I’m not really feeling like anything elaborate so we’re just giving me a fake beard and bushier eyebrows this year. Dawn got the costume taken care of.”

Sunny’s height had been the source of many jokes throughout his life, Bog somewhat understanding the normalcy of the mockery, considering his height had been used against him many times in the past as well. Too short, too tall, no one was safe from society’s opinions but Sunny had a very easy-going personality that left him capable of brushing it all off. He might have been a bit of a coward sometimes, another trait Bog had witnessed since meeting the man, but he was a generally likeable young man. If only he had found out about Bog’s secret a little more…delicately than he eventually did.

\------------

The night had been a steady progression of children ringing the doorbell and the adults switching spots on candy duty in order to retreat upstairs for Marianne to work her magic on each of them. Dawn, being the first one finished, was at the door the most frequent, dropping handfuls of candy into expectant bags. Marianne had taken a break long enough to lecture her on how much she was dishing out after catching her throwing a barely-grasped handful into another bag. Bog wasn’t too concerned about the amounts handed out, or the money he had spent on candy this year, vaguely recounting his trip to the grocery store. He had had been alone at the time and confronted by a wall of candy molded into all shapes and sizes, colors, and flavors. Uncertain of the popular choices for sweets these days and no Marianne to bring him up to speed, he walked the cart down the aisle, plucking a bag from each cardboard display until the bottom of the cart’s basket disappeared beneath at least two layers of colored wrappers.

That had to be enough, right?

Dawn may have been shocked by the amount of candy piled on the kitchen table to the point of bags sliding off onto the tiles but that didn’t stop her from eagerly diving for it to start filling up a bowl with the sweets. Marianne had gawked at it before grabbing a handful of Crunch bars and stuffing them into her pocket, ignoring Dawn’s complaining and proceeding to eat one as noisily as possible when she headed back down the hallway.

Since last year, the amount of children visiting had doubled and his doorbell was suffering from the overuse after decades of dormancy. He couldn’t deny he had been pleased by the nervous children that gawked up at him whenever it was his turn to answer the door. Bog smirked down at the wide-eyed gazes, looming over them in his costume and slowly extending his hands over them before releasing his fingers and letting candy rain down into their bags before the children nearly dropped them from trembling fingers. His reputation had apparently been untarnished after all.

“Boggy, we’re going to watch a movie and then Sunny wants to head to the costume party!” Dawn announced after Bog had wearily shut the front door, leaning his shoulder into the wood, giving her a deadpan stare that had no effect on her mood. “Come on, you promised we would go and Marianne worked so hard on all of our make-up!”

It was almost painful to look upon her when she was as excited as she seemed to be. Dawn was radiant all evening, ever since Marianne had released her from getting her make-up done. She bore a costume consisting of all the colors of a perfect sunset. Orange, yellow, gold, pink, and touches of lilac that one would catch just before dusk created a flowing dress that fluttered and flared when she had given them a perfect pirouette in the center of the living room before stopping on a dime to present herself fully after coming down. Bog had chuckled at the apricot and blush butterfly wings that bounced on her back, unable to keep up with her movements and flapping in and out then side to side whenever she turned too quickly.  


Marianne had given her amazing coloring around her eyes that resembled glittery Monarch butterfly wings with tendrils of perfectly contained golden glitter that danced away from the outer corners of her eyes. It was a brilliant fantasy makeup that he knew Marianne was absolutely proud of but Bog hoped that the obvious glitter spray in her hair was well-contained. He didn’t need to sweep up glitter off his floors for weeks to come.

“Fine,” he massaged his brow with his fingertips, shielding his eyes from her brightness. After a moment, he risked a glance up at her through the shelter of his fingers. “Where is she anyway?”

Dawn smiled, his suspicion increasing when he saw the deviance behind the sweetness of the expression.

“She’s just getting ready.”

“Getting ready as what?” He pried, glancing towards the stairs and moving to head up to the second level. “She never said what her costume was going to be.”

“You’ll see!” Dawn rolled her eyes, snagging his arm and firmly linking it with hers as she tugged him with her to go down the hall. “Sunny’s putting in FernGully!”

“FernGully? On Halloween?” He arched an eyebrow when she steered him into the living room and ushered him over to the couch, dragging him down with her weight to sit beside her while Sunny was working the remote.

Sunny had been stolen away upstairs not too long ago, his costume donned and Marianne setting to work on applying not only the hair work he had mentioned but she added a large nose in the process, rounded and bulbous much to Dawn’s delight. He was given a dark beard that came to a wispy point over the thick belt holding up his brown trousers, large boots peeking out from beneath the hems. He wore a weathered conical hat atop his head to finish off the costume, the tip of it bent a bit but overall Sunny had made a convincing gnome, seeming to fit beside Dawn’s fairy princess costume even though they were depicting entirely different creatures.

“Yes, that was the only cartoon Marianne would agree to tonight because we don’t have a copy of The Halloween Tree to go along with your costume.” Sunny explained, indicating Bog where he sat on the couch, Dawn still holding fast to his arm.

Bog and Marianne had poured over ideas for his costume this year, trying to combine his elderly makeup with known villains. Eventually they decided on Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud, the questionable old man eventually revealed to be the antagonist from a nineties cartoon known as The Halloween Tree. He suited him well enough in bone structure and fitness so Bog endured a night without hair by Marianne concealing it with a bald cap. It had left the others cackling with laughter when they first saw him stalk down the hall in his costume, his hand unable to leave his bald head alone for the first hour he had worn it. Dawn helped him with his cape and the costume was complete, the others eventually growing used to his appearance the further the night moved along.

“It has fairies!” Dawn grinned, “Mythical creatures go with Halloween.”

“There are plenty of movies based on Halloween and you choose fairies?” Bog asked, watching the menu for the movie display on the screen.  


“It’s useless arguing with her.” Sunny stated, selecting “Play” before setting the remote aside. “She’ll win every time.”

“He’s right. You might as well just enjoy the nostalgia trip with the rest of us.”

Bog heard Marianne’s voice coming up behind him and smiled, relieved that she had finally come down to spare him from the couple. He started to turn to see what her costume was but Dawn elbowed him and he flinched, glaring down at her until hands rest upon his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. He relaxed under the familiar fingers, smiling in spite of himself and reaching up to one of the hands. Scooping up her fingers into his, he kissed her knuckles, feeling the tickling scratch of a fingernail against his neck from the other hand still on his shoulder. He puzzled at the familiar taste of finishing powder on her skin and peered down on at her hand, noticing the chalky white skin with burgundy nails tapered to rounded points supported in his fingers.

His grip tightened on her fingers, gawking at her skin before jolting off the couch and spinning around to see what she had been concealing from him. His breath hitched and coldness he shouldn’t have been able to feel poured down his spine at the sight of Marianne standing behind the couch, her hands lowering upon the back while she eyed him with a risen eyebrow.  


Marianne’s warm skin had become chillingly pale, snow white only to be broken by the dark red lipstick painting a soft smirk on her lips. Her eyes blazed like amber, popped by charcoal eye shadow against pale skin framed by a long, deceptively realistic black wig. She wore black dress with a high collar that flared around the back of her neck and opened up in the front to a plunging neckline, exposing the gentle swell of her breasts cradled by plum-colored bust of a corset, black and purple stripes creating the body of it. He knew what costume she was wearing the moment he saw her but the chilling reality of her choice was clarified the moment her lips parted in a seductive smile, exposing the tips of fangs that both thrilled and unsettled him.

“What do you think Bog?” Dawn piped up, leaning over expectantly while Marianne continued to watch him through her smoky eyes, one eyebrow quirking at his prolonged silence.

Nothing came to mind through the shock of seeing her pale as death before him, only a dreadful fear at the sight of her standing deathly pale before him. His feet moved before thought could reach them as he went to her, grasping at her hands and turning them over, thumbs pressing into her wrists. The steady beat of her pulse under the pressure of his fingers immediately reassured him to what he knew he had been looking at. It was an illusion, a costume…noting more. Marianne was still alive, still breathing and standing before him looking more and more wary of his behavior until her expression faded from the playful smirk. She shut her mouth, hiding away the false fangs, her eyes concerned when he put his hands to her face, fully aware that she was alive but still needing reassurances in the warmth of her skin, the sound of her heartbeat and the sound of blood still coursing through her veins.

“Dawn…” Marianne touched his hands, staring him directly in the eye and yet she directed her words to her sister. “You and Sunny go ahead and go to the party. We’ll take care of candy duty.”

“What?” Dawn pouted, “But we just started—“

She jerked her gaze away from Bog, frowning at her sister. “Dawn, just go. We’ll head over when we finish here, okay?”

Something exchanged silently between the sisters, Dawn’s protest dying under the insistent gaze and Sunny soon came to her aid when he laced his fingers with hers, coaxing her up from the couch. They muttered hasty farewells before disappearing down the hallway and Marianne faced Bog again. Shaking off the previously gripping fear, Bog bit back a curse, his hands finally lowering from her face and clenching into fists at his sides. He knew her profession, hell; she used it on him for four years now! It was what she was good at. Of course she could do a convincing job on becoming a stereotype of a vampire.

“You don’t like it.” She stated grimly, crossing her arms over herself, her confidence draining.

“No—it’s…it looks great.” He reached out his hand to her and she took it, Bog laying his other hand over it, cupping the warmth between his palms. “I’m sorry, Marianne.”

“I guess I took the joke a little too far.” She smiled wryly up at him but it faded as quickly as it flickered across her lips. He inwardly kicked himself for making such remorse cloud her face and stepped in closer, his hand rising to nudge her chin up with his knuckle and leaning down to her. She tilted her face up to him, lips parting but he didn’t kiss her yet, looming close while meeting her half-lidded eyes. “I got the joke. I’m just glad it’s only a costume.”

Kissing her lips carefully, he savored the warmth of them, letting her take her hand away and felt her touch when she laid them over his chest, fingers slipping beneath the lapels of the jacket. Parting, he peered down at her while she sighed, opening her eyes and pressing her lips together. After a moment, she smiled, eyes crinkling when she reached up and smoothed her hand over the top of the bald head.“Would it offend you if I said I was glad that this was just a costume as well?”

“No,” he smiled, watching as she indicated his head. “I think old age on top of homeliness is pushing it.”

She frowned, smacking at his shoulder.

“You belittle yourself again, I will use bodily harm. Don’t think I can’t just because you’re undead.” She threatened jabbing a finger at him. He touched his chest where she had prodded him before striding past him and sitting down on the couch, turning up the volume on the film as Crysta suffered Magi’s lecture. “Now let’s watch this movie.”

\------------

“I think they’re finished for the night...” Marianne smiled, releasing the curtain and switching off the porch light at last. She turned around to find Bog watching her from the living room archway. It was a little chilling to see a tall slender man standing in the dim hallway but Marianne shook off the initial chill, returning to the living room where Ferngully had been paused in her absence. He ducked back into the room as she came through the archway, retrieving the remote and continuing the movie before bracing it on the arm of the couch. “I guess it’s time to join the dynamic duo?”

“We have plenty of time.” Bog dismissed when she came around to sit back down. He stopped her from moving too close to the sofa by resting his hands upon her shoulders, thumbs tracing her scapulae before he leaned over and kissed her temple. Marianne hummed at the chaste tenderness before she focused on the screen, noticing the familiar scene of Hexxus sliming his way through the mechanics of the Leveller. Bog slipped away but hadn’t taken his seat yet so she snuck up on him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her forehand against the prominence of his vertebrae.

“We can finish the movie first.” He laid his hands over her arms. “It’s about to get to the good part.”

“Toxic Love?” She checked the scene and sure as hell, he was right. “Yeah, I had no clue how suggestive that song was when I was a kid. My childhood was almost ruined when I heard the full version.”

“Almost?”

She shrugged, kissing the spot she had been leaning into before rubbing his back to signal she was ready to move back to the couch. When she stepped back, however, Bog’s fingers caught her upper arm, stopping her again when he guided her back to him, draping his limbs over her and bracing his chin upon the top of her head. He embraced around her shoulders and she smiled when the big band music began to play, feeling his body manipulating her to sway with him in time to the introduction. Tim Curry crooned his toxic serenade to the machine while Marianne and Bog rocked side to side to the tune.

Bog picked his head back up and bent over her, his jaw propping on her shoulder in a position that could possibly be killing his back and yet the man seemed undeterred as he continued to sway with her from side to side. Marianne closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his gentle rocking when he started to hum along with Tim, the tune becoming a low sing-along. Marianne smiled at the sound of his voice so close to her ear, feeling the brush of his lips against the shell as he sang.

“—Slime beneath me, Mmmm, slime up above. Oooh you’ll love my—ha—OH—hah! Toxic love.” He whisper-sang to her, the lyrics no different from before but having them sang to her accompanied by his breathy moaning as well as the rock of their bodies slow and sensual sent chills down her spine.  


“God—Bog—” she breathed, clenching her hands into fists when he chuckled at the reaction.

He continued to sing along with Hexxus, hands releasing from his previous embrace and moving along her collarbone, slipping to the neckline of her costume. She tilted her head back, looping an arm behind his head as he continued to sway with her, singing softly, smoothly by her ear. She preened when his hands slipped down her body, nails scratching over the stiff corset and catching on the velvet bodice, leaving trails through the fibers.

Somehow a song about pollution and muck sung in a children’s film had become one of the most seductive serenades Marianne ever heard in her life! She shuddered, biting her lower lip and feeling the pressure of the false fangs pushing into it but they were nowhere near sharp enough to do any damage. She tried to keep her sanity intact and hummed the tune along with his singing, the movie becoming mere background noise. Sorry, Tim. Bog was taking the spotlight for this one.

By the end of the song, Marianne came undone by the final moans in her ear and immediately clambered for the remote, muting the film and dropping the device to the floor without breaking contact with Bog as his hands smoothed down her body again, her hands jumping to his and laying over the backs of them, feeling his knuckles against the undersides of her fingers. She moved them up, dragging them over the corset and back up, sighing in relief when one brushed over her breast. She tensed her fingers and he followed, cupping it gently through the layers of fabric but the sensation was dulled by the structure of the corset until he twisted his wrist, fingertips grazing over the exposed skin of her cleavage.

“Oookay…I take it back…now my childhood is completely ruined.” She huffed, as he straightened up, letting her lean back into his frame for support. Caressing the skin with his thumb, he slowly removed his hand, twisting it out from under her palm and catching it before she could let it drop. He now covered her hands with his, riding them while she caressed herself, brushing over her breasts and up her neck, slipping past the high collar of the dress, over the elaborately beaded necklace she threw on as a last minute accessory and cupping the back of her neck before dragging her hands back down again. Marianne steered her touch over the busk of the corset, bumpy colt steel under her palms then turning to the softness of velvet and satin skirts. Going further down until she brushed their hands over her thighs, Bog’s longer fingers spreading wide over the material and feeling the shape of her limbs beneath the skirts. His breath caught when she slipped her hands free and held his down over her pelvis, rubbing the butts of her hands into the backs of his, kneading the skin and she smirked to herself at the gasping response, pushing his hands down and dragging up a bit of the skirt with the pressure of her influence and feeling his fingers flex and curl to continue hiking it up inch by inch. “Couch—Right now!”

He turned around and backed into the sofa, collapsing on the cushions and Marianne steamrolled him, forcing him onto his back and swinging her leg over him, straddling his hips while he bent his knees, feet bracing on the opposite armrest. She leaned over him, closing her eyes to the make-up and kissing him eagerly, his hands on her hips, squeezing them encouragingly. Groaning at the amount of skirt between her and his bony hips, Marianne wriggled, trying to tug them out from under her knees but Bog’s hands stilled her progress, even when she tried to kiss him and distract him from the gesture he kept a firm hold on her wrists and she groaned, opening her eyes and glaring down at him.

“The bald cap is coming off.” He frowned, staring up at her and she cursed under her breath, shaking his hands off and leaning over him, checking her seams. Sure enough it was starting to bunch up where his head had been resting against the couch cushion. Digging her fingers under the flap of the cap, she peeled it off, ignoring the inner sting of knowing she was just throwing away her hard work but in the haze of hormones, it was in her way. “What are you doing? You worked hard to keep that glued down!”

Bog started to sit up but she pushed him back down, “It was in my way.”

She emphasized her point by digging her fingers into his hair, Bog’s lips parting in a luxurious groan that flooded her belly with warmth, encouraging her to lean over him again, kissing his lips and grinning when he kissed her back with the same enthusiasm, hands holding her to him while she shut her eyes, imagining his face beneath the old age make-up. It was hard not to touch it, risking smudging her make-up job or potentially dislodging the prosthetics but her mouth was greedy and she was growing impatient to taste more of him.

\------------

Caressing her tongue with his, Bog drew it into his mouth with a stroke but then she drew apart, the image before him utterly sinful when she loomed over him, eyes closed and licking her lower lip. He wanted to cling to her, to thread his fingers through her hair, hold her close but he risked messing up the wig and possibly the flawless spread of her make-up. His realm was painfully limited to her lips, not that he was complaining, but he couldn’t help but silently lament over the loss of the stretch of her neck or the exposed skin of her chest and the breasts swelling from the push of the corset. When she kissed beneath his jaw with a little peck that was soon followed by more down his throat, his lips parted, air suddenly a necessity more than a habit just to keep himself calm.

Marianne kissed the side of his neck, soft and slow caresses of her lips that were punctuated with the trailing of the tip of her tongue over the skin. Bog’s hands hovered over her, eager to hold but controlled for the sake of her hard work. He finally curled his fingers around the backs of her upper arms where she held herself aloft over his frame before he felt the stretch of her mouth over his neck. The gust of hot air supplied by her staggered breaths heated his flesh, the man nearly squirming on the couch but risking jostling her if he couldn’t keep himself still.

Bog gasped at the sensation of teeth grazing his skin. His body jolted under her, unable to resist the feel of the fake fangs sending an electric thrill through him that left his hands grasping at her without thinking, one unwittingly cupping the back of her head with an encouraging touch that left her humming against his skin. The dull points pressed into his neck, nearly pinching when she started to bite him with careful teeth, not wanting to pop the fakes free of their adhesive.

“Ah—” his hips bucked beneath her, levered by his feet on the end of the couch and Marianne giggled at his eagerness. 

He was a hypocrite for being so struck down by the fearful thought of Marianne having been turned earlier. Bog didn’t want to face a future without Marianne but he couldn’t imagine bringing an end to her life himself just because of a selfish desire to hold onto this woman forever. Marianne as a human was how she should remain but God if he didn’t wish those fangs were real right at that moment. If he wasn’t such a coward, the bite could have been real, her fangs piercing him in a combination of pain and pleasure. It would have been euphoric. Eyes tightly shut, he shook his head, pushing the thought away and savoring the love bite Marianne bestowed upon his neck, huffing at the stroke of her tongue and the sweet suction of her lips on his neck once she released her teeth.

“I should get you to sing Toxic Love more often.” She whispered against his neck, pressing another kiss to the spot she had bitten and possibly left a mark behind for good measure.

“You should hear me sing _Be Prepared_.” He chuckled dryly, rotating his hips up into her and she clenched her teeth, her head dropping down as she ground into the bulge in retaliation, threatening to further compromise his old man façade, not to mention his costume in general.

“God, I’m never watching Disney again!” she groaned, slumping heavily over him and he chuckled, risking a kiss at the bit of her forehead exposed by the wig, arms wrapping around her. His fingers followed the lay of the laces to the back of the corset, Bog picking up his head a bit to spot the knot. He found where she had tied them together, sliding one of the loops free and loosening the knot when Marianne suddenly gasped, pushing herself upright and he grunted with a painful snarl when she unwittingly sat on his neglected arousal in her urgency to sit upright. “Holy hell—we gotta stop!”

“What?” he pushed himself up on his elbows. _Not again._ “Why?”

“It’s Halloween!” she climbed off of him, brushing her skirts down and combing her fingers through the strands of the wig’s hair to fix the lay of it over her shoulders. “Do you know what happens when people screw on Halloween? They’re the first to get killed off by the psychopath!”

“Yes, in movies!” he stiffly pushed himself upright, rotating to lower his feet upon the floor.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be something that only exists in the movies. Don’t diss the fact that there could be a Michael Meyers out there ready to kill the nearest couple on the block.” She pointed out, working to retie the laces of the corset again. Bog frowned, glancing down at his pants and pulling a bit of the cape over himself to conceal his lap. Marianne had noticed the gesture and she smiled, reaching down and touching beneath his chin so that he would look up at her. Her gaze was warm and still blazed with unappeased desire. “You’re not the only one who hates the idea of stopping, trust me, but I’m not risking it tonight.”

“Alright, we’ll stop.” He smiled, “I think making love while I looked like this would be a little unusual anyway.” He stood up, shaking out his limbs and willing himself to calm down. He peered down at the discarded bald cap on the floor, pressing his lips together. “Um, more importantly,” he bent down and retrieved the cap, holding it up where it dangled by his index finger. “What are we going to do about my costume?”

“Aw fuckbuckets…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any weirdness. Marianne was struck by the lust rocket and she wasn't going to take the time to remove his prosthetics for a little making out. She did imagine ripping them off at one point though. xD  
> Marianne's final comment, she's so classy. Heh.  
> This fic happened because I got Toxic Love stuck in my head. I wondered if a guy singing that to you while rocking back and forth, holding you from behind would be sexy in spite the lyrics. Answer, to me, is yes. Heck, Tim Curry alone kills me every time.


	14. Cuddle or Puddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a two-page quip of a one-shot. I should have saved it for a time I had more of a plot in mind but I got impatient. I wanted to write more kissing.

There were little tickling sensations on her shoulders, the light scratch of stubble from a scruffy cheek brushing her skin and a soft kiss over a still tender wound sheltered by a bandage. Marianne’s face was half stifled by the pillow but she smiled into the fabric when more kisses tickled across her neck, the trace of a tongue barely touching her ear and the pressure of his nose in the side of her head when he nuzzled against her jaw. Marianne couldn’t have had a better awakening but there was a pressure in her bladder that demanded attention whether she wanted to bask in this morning glory or not.

A hand trailed down her back and she got a fresh reminder that she was still naked when a warm hand ghosted over her skin, the blanket lifting just barely, letting in a cool slip of air that made way for his touch that followed. The smooth pass of his palm turned into the graze of nails dragging back up her spine that drew a sleepy but pleasured moan out of her mouth, the sound muffled by the pillow. Well, he certainly knew she was awake now.

His fingers traced her shoulder blade with a slow pass that followed a rib around her side and then---MOTHERFUCKER WAS TICKLING HER!

Marianne jolted with a broken laugh as his fingers tickled beneath her arm with a low chuckle, Marianne squirming to get away from him while trying not to let loose all over his sheets. Her self control was stronger than she thought, trying to elbow him into submission but the man was half lying on top of her and she couldn’t bend her other arm far enough to give him a good crack in the face. He stopped wriggling his fingers under her pit and she spat out a mouthful of pillowcase, picking her head up and flopping her head back down but this time her head was turned to the side and she tried to see him over her shoulder.

Bog chuckled when she groaned in sleepy irritation at his ballsy move to tickle her with a full bladder in his own bed. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder and she lifted her head, waiting for a kiss on her lips but he avoided them. Bog started peppering what parts of her face he could reach and then moving to her neck with little kisses, each one tickling and stirring up girlish giggles from between her lips.

“Boooog!” she whined through the tickling kisses, “Staa-ha-ha-ha-hop! I have to pee-HEHEHEHEHE!”

He didn’t listen to her if the little peck on the base of her jaw had anything to say about it. His fingers wrapped around her wrist where it fisted the sheets, grazing his teeth over the back of her neck and she heard him cough on what was probably a mouthful of hair. Looks like she needed to get it cut again but served him right for tickling her! She snorted and he pushed himself up from where he had been half-lying on top of her, tugging on her wrist and she obligingly rolled over, looking up at him and grinning at the way his eyes were eating her up. Took them long enough to get to this point and she ate it up every chance she got. No one ever looked at her like Bog did, especially on mornings like this when it was just the two of them in the sanctuary of his house, no make-up, not pretense; it was just a man and a woman.

Marianne stretched her arms out with a groan, arching herself up into him and he chuckled, following her when she relaxed back into the mattress. She draped her arms around his neck and shoulders as he settled down on top of her, warm and still bony as hell. His hips pressed against hers and she pecked his lips, helping herself out by slipping a hand into his hair and pulling him back down for another one. Her free hand trailed over a trace of muscle in his back where she could feel the tension in his shoulder where he was still trying to brace his weight from completely slumping over her.

Risking spreading her legs to accommodate his, she felt him sag in between them a bit, lifting hers and dragging it up a long limb with a slow trail. He groaned into her mouth, pushing himself up straight on his arms, eyes alert and she shifted her head to the side, raising a shoulder slightly in a coy gesture that earned a miniscule shake of his head. He wasn’t fooled by her mock innocence and she was proud of him. Innocence was Dawn’s territory after all. She distracted him from his discovery with further exploration now that he was hovering over her.

Her bladder screamed for relief more than her libido and she pacified it with mental promises of “soon” that she refused to let reach the surface and give herself away. Marianne held his face in her hands, tender and loving with a gentle sweep of her thumbs synchronized to caress his bottom lip down to his chin and across his stubble when they spread out, the soft scratch of the little hairs the only sound. He sighed, turning his face into her palm, pressing a kiss in between the flexure lines. The man’s tenderness was heart-wrenching and she resisted caving to the desire to just stay there and let him have her all over again but then there would be bed wetting and that definitely _not_ sexy.

_God knows I love you, you dork but I gotta go!_

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

She lowered her hands, dragging the digits down his jaw line and to his neck, fingernails grazing the skin until she reached the base of the long stretch of his throat. Trailing her fingertips along his collarbone, she met his gaze and wiggled her eyebrows in invitation. He didn’t sink down but he did crane his neck a bit to give her another kiss. Marianne picked her head up to meet him half way, rubbing her leg against his with one more caress that left him raising his hips, probably to conceal the reaction she was getting out of him. He kissed her sweetly, Marianne giving him teasing flicks of her tongue and felt his lengthened canines threatening to grow longer, promising something much more indulgent in store and she heard the alleluia chorus starting to cue up in her mind.

_NO! No choirs of angels, no singing! Plenty of time for basking in mind-melting kisses after your bathroom break!_

She cut him off, nearly growling to herself when she dropped her head back down into the pillow and he snarled, leaning down to bring her back. Marianne barely felt the touch of his lips when she jammed her hand into his inner elbow, the joint forcibly bent and his weight sent him immediately dropping to the left while she rolled out from under his right. Flinging the covers aside, a very naked Marianne rolled herself out of the bed in what she would have scored as a perfect ten for mattress dismount. She then made the long-awaited mad dash for the bathroom, crowing her victory to the sound of a frustrated groan sharply cut off by the slamming of the bathroom door behind her.


	15. Nintendo 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marianne wants to show Bog something he missed out on in the 90's.  
> Inspired by jupiter235 and endorathewitchwriter on tumblr, who wanted to see Marianne and Bog playing Mario Kart.  
> (This is a rapidly written fic with little/no editing.)

“How is it that you have existed through centuries and you haven’t played a single videogame in the nineties?” Marianne asked, eyebrows arched, clunking the device upon the coffee table, two controllers sliding off the curve of the casing and clattering across the surface until he stopped one with his hand. One controller was purple, the other was gray and they bore three extensions with a rounded top. Four yellow buttons, a red, and a green labeled with letters and one joystick that he pushed in a little circle before glancing up at her over his glasses, setting the battered game box she had previously dropped in his lap aside.

“I had a phase where I practically lived in an arcade during the mid eighties, Marianne. I have played plenty of videogames before they ever became available in one’s own home.” He set the controller back onto the table while Marianne unwound cables and began plugging them into the consul.

“You missed out on a real experience then. Arcade games got nothing on the N64!” she grinned, turning away to take the other end of the chord towards the television.

Bog lowered his eyes to the coffee table then the cable she was carrying. It wasn’t going to be long enough; she was going to pull the poor device right off the table. He nearly pointed this out but Marianne was on a roll listing a plethora of games he never played off the top of her head while she moved. Interruption would only result in unsavory circumstances. He raised up a leg and used the sole of his shoe to gently push the coffee table away from his sofa in a quiet hiss across the rug until the chord had enough slack for her to reach and she continued with her task of plugging it in none the wiser.

He let her handle the television, finagling with the plugs and adjusting the input until the blank screen reflected her face in all of its heavily concentrated glory. Bog resisted the urge to smile, distracting himself with another one of the game boxes stashed in the cardboard container sitting at his left. This one had a red and gold box with the ever-so-popular Mario depicted in a go kart with other characters racing him in the background. Clearing the game was meant for racing and the description on the back guaranteed it when he flipped it over and curled his lip at the pictures of different courses barely revealed in the depictions.

“That’s a good one to start you off on!” Marianne grinned, maneuvering around the coffee table and plucking it from his hands. “I used to kill Dawn on the Battle courses!”

“Are you going to show me how to play so that you don’t have the unfair advantage of previous experience?” he asked as she removed the gray cartridge and stuck it into the slot.  


“I believe in learning from the school of hard knocks.” She stated matter-of-factly with a smirk over her shoulder at him. He should have known she wouldn’t go easy on him.

Flipping the switch the blank screen flickered and she looked up in time to see the intro screen come into view and the familiar voice of Mario himself greeting them through his stereo. Of course Marianne would turn on the surround sound for something as silly as a videogame. He chuckled at her obvious enthusiasm stirred up by nostalgia for the game and sat back on the couch, watching her drop the box and pick up the controllers.

“I’m amazed it worked on the first try! I used to have to jiggle the game or something when I was a kid.” She marveled, going over to him and while he half expected her to sit down to his right, she surprised him when she sat in between his legs on the edge of the cushion and passed the gray controller over her head to him, claiming the clear purple one as her own. “I’m player one!”

“Alright,” he maneuvered the cord around her to keep it out of her way while she pressed buttons with experienced fingers, navigating past the welcome run-through of the start screen and into the menus. Bog barely had time to read them around her form when she flicked through the pull down menus with rapid clicks and then a new screen faded into view where the characters blinked off to the left of the screen, waiting for selection.

“Select your player!” Mario chimed in and Marianne flicked the joystick around until she chose Toad.

“Toad is the fastest.” She stated over her shoulder, leaning back into his chest and he dropped his chin upon the top of her head, sighing.

“Anything else I should know about these characters before you start the race oh Nintendo whisperer?” he asked, navigating through the limited faces.

“Yoshi is fast but I think you should pick Luigi for similarity’s sake.”

Bog wrinkled his nose and pointedly chose Yoshi.

“Select Map!” Mario prompted.

“I’ll go easy on you. We’ll use the easy tracks first.” Marianne explained while navigating away at the screen, the television fading out and then returning with introductory music as the screen filled with a track and all the racers, even those they hadn’t selected onto the screen. “Hold down A and use the joystick to steer.”

“What about B?” he asked, feeling her shift, her body tensing in preparation for the race as a strange creature on a digital cloud appeared before the racers with a traffic light on a pole, counting down with the lights.

“B is the break, you don’t need it!” she finished off her explanation by her character suddenly bursting forward and Bog’s hands nearly dropped the controller in his fumble to make Yoshi begin to drive. Other karts were bumping into his and little stars exploded with every impact but eventually he pressed his thumb over A and steered the creature forward after the other racers on the split screen.

Marianne laughed, her body relaxing the longer she drove until she was lying comfortably against his chest, propping her feet on the coffee table while he struggled around her body to keep his kart going without charging right off of the track. Marianne’s controller and his were dangerously close to striking with his jerky movements and her stationary hands hovering just below his reach, her position in front of him limiting his motions. Perhaps that had been her intention all along and he managed a slight curl to his lip at her cheekiness through the frustration of trying to change that infuriating orange “7th” into something much more promising.

“When you get a shell, it helps if you hold down Z so you don’t lose it immediately.” Her instruction came a little late after he had lost his third green shell bouncing uselessly off of the edges of the track and nearly striking him rather than another player.

“I wish you would have told me this sooner!” he huffed, denied another power box when Donkey Kong slid past him and broke through it before he could.

What had started out as Bog’s miserable putter past the finish line at 6th place on Luigi’s Raceway suddenly became a third on Moo Moo Farm. Marianne had been the picture of experienced game player through two blocks of races but on the third when Bog showed further improvement to the point of nearly beating her on a few tracks, she began to abandon her previous languishing and was on the edge of the cushion, her gaze locked on the screen and Bog finally having a better grip on his controller. Her hands were jerking at the controller, trying to manipulate Toad to lean with her body as she craned one direction then another but it didn’t help her anymore than his own bending and twisting.

They had mastered the tracks and courses but at the price of aching thumbs and sweating palms that Marianne grimaced over but stubbornly refused to break the game for the sake of drying them off. Her fighting spirit had been ignited and she was going to plow through the game until she proved that she was the more experienced racer. He could understand why she had become so fired up though, he was practically chomping at the bit to beat her and the other racers himself, his body taught with the urgency of the background music and eyes nearly burning from the need to blink. Even breathing seemed irrelevant in the races and he eased out of it at one point completely. Marianne held her breath more than once but eventually broke into pants to catch up on the oxygen she nearly denied herself.

“Oh hell, Rainbow Road!” Marianne groaned shortly after they finished the last course, the time in between seemingly shorter than the last ones as the now familiar rousing music started up and the familiar cloud creature appeared again to count them down. This track was different from the others, however. This one had no surroundings aside from stars and neon character faces, the road itself a rainbow of blinding colors that he had to squint at through his glasses, pushing them up over his head in an attempt to see better but even his manipulated eyesight couldn’t save him from the assault on his eyeballs. “Whoever designed this wanted to fry children’s brains before they could reach the finish line!”

“Why is that?” he ground out as they kicked off into the start of the race, the colors flying by and Yoshi was suddenly launched completely off of the course and flying off into the oblivion. “NOOOOOOOO!”

“That would be one of the reasons.” Marianne ground out between clenched teeth, rocking to the left and holding the controller out, craning for her kart not to fly off over the side where no guardrail could save her. Bog tapped his foot impatiently on the floor as his kart was hoisted from the darkness and dropped back onto the track. He sneered as he started the kart forward again, forced to catch up to the others still blazing past his character. “SHIIIIIIIIT! TURN YOU DUMBASS PIECE OF FUNGUS!”

Toad careened over the edge and Marianne screamed, kicking her feet and nearly knocking her head on his controller, Bog jerking his hands away from her head to avoid the damage and sending Yoshi into Wario then spinning out on a blasted banana peel. He struggled to get him back on route while Marianne impatiently tapped at the A button while she was carried back onto the track and spun out before Toad shot off again to catch up to the others. All of this and they hadn’t even made it to the second lap! Where on earth was the start line on this God-forsaken track?!

“Take that and your jalopy horn sound effects, Donkey Kong!” Marianne shot three red shells in rapid succession and all of them managed to strike him at once, knocking him over the edge as she cruised right by him with a victory cackle. Bog laughed from both her silliness and relief when he finally entered into the second lap.

“This road takes forever for just one lap!” he shook his head in disbelief, managing to keep his kart on the track this time after it had ramped over the steep drop in the course. He nearly hit a chomper but evaded it in time for Princess Peach to suffer the razor sharp teeth instead, her cries fading into the background, overpowered by the wheeze of Yoshi’s kart engine. “No wonder you hate it!”

Bog felt he would have snapped the joystick when he struck an upside down question mark box when he finally crossed the start line for the third lap and at the same time Marianne was hit by a green shell. Their places were set, first and second with beaming numbers but it was down to the two of them against six other computer-controlled characters. Marianne struck the Z button repeatedly with the gold mushroom finally in her box and Bog tried not to watch Toad staggering on the screen but his annoying voice that started and restarted with every push of the button left him nearly insane until it was used up. He missed another power box, Mario stealing it from him while Bowser took the second nearest one.

Then the lightning happened and both Marianne and Bog cried out in anguish as they shrunk into tiny versions of themselves, puttering along with even higher whines from the motors as Peach sped by, the finish line suddenly in sight. Those few agonizing seconds ticked by and they finally grew to their true size, Marianne practically growling as she leaned forward to catch up. Bog followed her, his nose nearly prodding the back of her head in his intent to catch up to the princess. He passed her, the finish line looming large on the screen until…banana peel. Peach sped over the finish line and Bog spinned out of control in her wake, Marianne a close third right after him.

‘FUCK YOU, RAINBOW ROAD!” They roared together, Marianne throwing her hands up in the air, Bog dropping his controller to the floor and slumping back into the couch with a defeated groan, arching his neck over the back. Marianne flopped back into his chest again, whining softly before lightly thumping her head against his collarbone. They sat there fuming through the finishing up music as the results flashed over the screen, pulling in and out of view with the rankings and overall scores. Bog peered up as the music stopped and a clip began to play.

Toad, Yoshi, and Peach drove up to Princess Peach’s castle and were placed on ranking platforms, Marianne lifting her head in interest while Bog puzzled over the sudden appearance of a red bloated fish floating above the racers. It leaned back and spat into the air, Bog flinching at the abundance of start confetti in its wake as a trophy appeared and floated down, hovering in tumbling circles over Toad’s head. Marianne’s body relaxed immediately and he rolled his eyes at the “Congratulations” spoken through the speakers. Instead, he focused on the cramp in his thumbs and the overall stiffness in his limbs from the tension his body had been enduring through the entirety of their races. Still, through it all, he found himself rather elated from the experience. He enjoyed the challenge and Marianne’s competitive nature shining through. She tested him in an area where he had little experience and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Except for Rainbow Road…he wouldn’t mind not doing that again.

“So,” Marianne twisted around and his arm instinctively wrapped around her as she laid her legs over his thigh and slung an arm around his neck, lightly nudging his head up until he looked up at her. “Want to try Pokémon Stadium?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed their game!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment or give kudos if you enjoyed it! I always appreciate knowing if someone liked the story!


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